T 


Michaers  Crag  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^  ^ 

*  *  ^  ^  *  ^  By  Grant  Allen 

With  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  illustrations 
m  silhouette  by  Francis  Carruthers  Gould  and 
Alec  Carruthers  Gould  '#  -#   -#   <#  ^   ^   < 


Chicago  and  New  York  ♦  ♦  ♦ 
Raf)d,  McNallv  h  Company 


J 


,"  J 


..■* 


260997 


CopyriKht,  .803,  by  Rand,  MoNally  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


tHAPTEK. 


1  I. 

;    II. 

!    III. 

':    V. 

\  Vi. 

vii. 

VIII. 

IX. 

]    X. 

< 


A  Cornish  Landlord. 
Trevennack, 
Face  to  Face, 
Tyrrel's  Remor.se. 
A  Strange  Delusion, 
Pure  Accident,    - 
Peril  bv  Land, 
•Safe  at  Last, 
Medical  Opinion, 
A  Hold  Attempt, 


PAGE. 

7 
24 

45 
62 

76 

86 

103 

117 

130 
*47 


( ■• .' 


6  CONTENTS. 

rilAl'TKR. 

XI.  Business  is  FJusiness, 

XII.  A  Hard  Ikirgain, 

XIII.  Angel  and  Devil, 

XIV.  At  Arm's  Length, 

XV.  St.  Michael  Does  Battle, 


PAOE. 

i6i 

'77 

210 


MICHAELS   CRAG. 


CHAPTER   I. 

A    COKXISII    LANDI.ORIJ. 

"Then  you  don't  care  for  the  place 
yourself,  Tyrrel  ? "  Eustace  Le  Neve 
said,  musingly,  as  he  gazed  in   front 
of  him  with  a  comprehensive   glance 
at  the  long  gray  moor  and  the  wide 
expanse  of  black  and  stormy   water. 
"  It's  bleak,  of  course;  bleak  and  cold, 
I   grant  you ;  all  this  upland  plateau 
about   the  Lizard   promontory  seems  '^-.     - 
bleak   and   cold   everywhere;  but   to   mrmind 
■t  has  a  certain  wild  and  weird  picturesqueness 
of  .ts  own  for  all  that.     It  aims  at  gloominess. 
I  confess  m  its  own  way   I   don't  dislike  it  " 

"I-or    my  part,"   Tyrrel    answered.  clincI,ino- 
h.s   hand   hard   as   he   spoke,  and  knittino    hit 


8 


MICHAKI.S   CKA(;. 


brow   despondently,    "I     simply    hate    it.     If  I 
wasn't  the  landlord  here,  to  be  perfectly  frank 

with  you,  I'd  never  come  near 
Penmorgan.  I  do  it  for  con- 
science* sake,  to  be  among  my 
own  people.  That's  my  only 
reason.  I  disapprove  of  absen- 
teeism ;  and  now  the  land's  mine, 
why,  I  must  put  up  with  it,  I 
suppose,  and  live  upon  it  in 
spite  of  myself.  But  I  do  it  against  the 
grain.  The  whole  place,  if  I  tell  you  the  truth, 
is  simply  detestable  to  me." 

He  leaned  on  his  stick  as  he  spoke,  and  looked 
down  gloomily  at  the  heather.  A 
handsome  young  man, Walter  Tyr- 
rel,  of  the  true  Cornish  t)pe  —  tall, 
dark,  poetical-looking,  with  pensive 
eves  and  a  thick  black  mustache, 
which  gave  dignity  and  character  ^ 
to  his  otherwise  almost  too  deli-  :-^"^'- 
cately  feminine  features.  And  he  ^jii^^0k 
stood  on  the  open  moor  just  a  hundred  yards 
outside    his    own  front   door  at  Penmorgan,  on 


A   COliMSH    [,ANI>LOkI). 


» 


g' 


the  Lizard  peninsula,  looking  westward  down  a 
T-eat  wedge-shaped  gap  in  the  solid  serpentine 
rock  to  a  broad  belt  of  sea  beyond 
without  a  ship  or  a  sail  on  it.    The 
view  was   indeed,  as  Eustace  Le 
Neve  admitted,  a  somewhat  bleak 
and  dreary  one.     For  miles,  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  on  either 
side,  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but 
one  vast  heather-clad  upland,  just 
varied  at  the  dip  by  bare  ledges  of  dark  rock 
and  a  single  gray  glimpse  of  tossing  sea  between 
them.     A  little  farther   on,  to  be  sure,  winding 
round  the  cliff  path,  one  could  open  up  a  glor?- 
ous  prospect   on   either  hand 
over  the  rocky  islets  of  Kyn- 
ance  and  Mullion  Cove,  with 
Mounts     Bay    and     Penzance 
and    the    Land's    End    in    the 
distance.     That    was    a    mag- 
nificent  site— if   only   his  an- 
cestors had   had  the  sense  to 
see  it.      But  Penmorgan  House,  like  most  other 
Cornish   landlords'   houses,   had    been  carefully 


10 


MICIIAKLS   CKAt;. 


placed —  for  shelter's  sake,  no  doubt  — in  a  sea- 
ward  hollow  where  the  view  was  most  restricted; 

and  the  outlook  one  got  from 
it,  over  black  moor  and 
blacker  rocks,  was  certainly 
by  no  means  of  a  cheerful 
character.  Eustace  Le  Neve 
himself,  most  cheery  and  san- 
guine of  men,  just  home  from 
his  South  American  railway- 
laying,  and  with  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the 
Argentine  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  was  forced  to 
admit,  as  he  looked  about  him,  that  the  position 
of  his  friend's  house  on  that  rolling  brown  moor 
was  far  from  a  smiling  one. 

"  You  used  to  come  here  when 
you  were  a  boy,  though,"  he  ob- 
jected, after  a  pause,  with  a 
glance  at  the  great  breakers  that 
curled  in  upon  the  cove;  "and 
you  must  surely  have  found  it 
pleasant  enough  then,  what  with 
the  bathing  and  the  fishing  and  the  shooting  and 
the  boating,  and  all  the  delights  of  the  sea  and 
the  country." 


•  • 


A  COrNISIl    LANDLORD. 


11 


Walter  Tyrrel  nodded  his  head.     It  was  clear 
the    subject  was   extremely  distasteful    to   him. 
^U^     "Yes  —  till   I  was  twelve  or  thir- 
fl^H    teen,"  he  said,  slowly,  as  one  who 
rr^jPIBH    grudges   assent,    "in    my    uncle's 
time,  I  liked  it  well    enough,   no 
doubt.     Boys  don't  realize  the  full 
terror   of  sea    or  cliff,  you  know, 
and  are  perfectly  happy  swimming 
and   climbing.      I  used  to  be  am- 
phibious in  those  days,  like  a  seal  or  an  otter 

—  in  the  water  half  my  time;  and  I  scrambled 
over  the  rocks —great  heavens,  it  makes  me 
giddy  now  just  to  think  where  I  scrambled.  But 
when  I  was  about  thirteen  years 
old  "—  his  face  grew  graver  still 

—  "a  change  seemed  to  come 
over  me,  and  I  began  .  .  .  tSF^q*— ^^ 
well,  I  began  to  hate  Penmor- 
gan.  I've  hated  it  ever  since. 
I  shall  always  hate  it.  I  learned 
what  it  all  meant,  I  suppose  — 
rocks,  wrecks,  and  accidents.  I  "^^^h^dull 
and  gloomy  it  was,  and  I  couldn't  bear  coming 


12 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


down  here.  I  came  as  seldom  as  I  dared,  till 
my  uncle  died  last  year  and  left  it  to  me.  And 
then  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  had  to  come 
down.  It's  a  landlord's  business,  I  consider,  to 
live  among  his  tenants  and  look  after  the  wel- 
fare of  the  soil  committed  to  his  charge  by  his 

queen   and  country.     He  holds  it 
in  trust,  strictly  speaking,  for  the 
nation.     So   I   felt   I    must  come 
and  live  here.     But  I  hate  it,  all 
the  same.     I  hate  it !     I  hate  it ! " 
He  said  it  so  energetically,  and 
with  such  strange  earnestness  in 
his  voice,  that  Eustace  Le  Neve, 
scanning  his  face  as  he  spoke,  felt 
sure  there   must   be   some   good 
reason   for  his  friend's  dislike    of   his   ancestral 
home,  and   forebore  (like   a   man)  to  question 
him    further.       Perhaps,     he    thought,    it     was 
connected    in    Tyrrel's   mind   with    some    pain- 
ful   memory,   some    episode   in    his    history   he 
would  gladly  forget ;   though,  ;:o  be  sure,  when 
one  comes  to  think  of  it,  at  thirteen  such  epi- 
sodes are  rare  and  improbable.     A  man  doesn't, 


A  CORNISH    LANDLORD. 


13 


as  a  rule,  get  crossed  in  love  at  that  early  age ; 
nor  does  he  generally  form  lasting  and  abiding 

antipathies.  And  indeed,  for 
the  matter  of  that,  Penmorgan 
was  quite  gloomy  enough  in 
itself,  in  all  conscience,  to  ac- 
count for  his  dislike — a  lonely 
and  gaunt-looking  granite-built 
house,  standing  bare  and  square 
on  the  edge  of  a  black  moor, 
under  shelter  of  a  rocky  dip,  in 
a  treeless  country.  It  must  have  been  a  terrible 
change  for  a  bachelor  about  town,  like  Walter 
Tyrrel,  to  come  down  at  twenty-eight  from  his 
luxurious    club    and   his   snug  \\ 

chambers  in  St.  James'  to  the 
isolation  and  desolation  of 
that  wild  Cornish  manor-house. 
But  the  Tyrrels,  he  knew,  were 
all  built  like  that;  Le  Neve 
had  been  with  three  of  the 
family  at  Rugby;  and  con- 
science was  their  stumbling-block.  When  once 
a  Tyrrel  was  convinced  his  duty  lay  anywhere. 


■^*  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

no  consideration  on  earth  would  keep  him  from 
doing  it. 

"Let's   take    a    stroll   down   by   the   shore," 
Le   Neve    suggested,  carelessly,    after   a   short 
pause,   slipping   his   arm   through    his    friend's. 
"Your  cliffs,  at  least,  must  be  fine  ;  they  look 
grand  and  massive  ;  and  after  three 
years  of  broiling  on  a  South  Ameri- 
can line,  this  fresh  sou'wester's  just 
the  thing,  to  my  mind,  to  blow  the 
cobwebs  out  of  one." 

He  was   a   breezy-looking  young 
man,  this   new-comer   from   beyond 
the    sea  — a    son    of    the   Vikings, 
Tyrrel's  contemporary   in    age,  but 
very  unlike  him    in    form  and  feat- 
ures ;   for  Eustace  Le  Neve  was   fair  and  big- 
built,  a  florid  young  giant,  with    tawny  beard, 
mustache,   and   whiskers,    which    he    cut    in    a 
becoming  Vandyke  point  of  artistic  carelessness. 
There  was  more  of  the  artist  than  of  the  engi- 
neer,    indeed,    about    his    frank   and   engaging 
English  face  — a  face  which  made  one  like  him 
as  soon  as  one  looked  at  him.     It  was  impossi- 


A  COKMSII    LANDLORD. 


15 


ble  to  do  otherwise.  Exuberant  vitality  was  the 
keynote  of  the  man's  being.  And  he  was  can- 
didly open  too.  He  impressed 
one  at  first  sight,  by  some  name- 
less instinct,  with  a  certain  well- 
founded  friendly  confidence.  A 
lovable  soul,  if  ever  there  was 
one,  equally  liked  at  once  by 
men  and  women. 

"  Our  cliffs  are  fine,"  Walter 
Tyrrel  answered,  grudgingly,  in  the  tone  of  one 
who,  against  his  will,  admits  an  adverse  point  he 
sees  no  chance  of  gainsaying.  "  They're  black, 
and  repellant,  and  iron-bound, 
and  dangerous,  but  they're  cer- 
tainly magnificent.  I  don't  deny 
it.  Come  and  see  them,  by  all 
means.  They're  the  only  lions 
we  have  to  show  a  stranger  in 
this  part  of  Cornwall,  so  you'd 
better  make  the  most  of  them." 
And  he  took,  as  if  mechan- 
ically, the  winding  path  that  led  down  the  gap 
toward  the  frowning  cove  in  the  wall  of  cliff 
before  them. 


16 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


Eustace  Le  Neve  was  a  little  surprised  at 
this  unexpected  course,  for  he  himself  would 
naturally  have  made  rather  for  the  top  of 
the  promontory,  whence  they  were  certain  to 
obtain  a  much  finer  and  more  extensive  view  ; 
but  he  had  only  arrived  at  Penmorgan  the  even- 
ing before,  so  he  bowed  at  once 
to  his  companion's  more  mature 
experience  of  Cornish  scenery. 
They  threaded  their  way  through 
the  gully,  for  it  was  little  more — 
a  great  water-worn  rent  in  the 
dark  serpentine  rocks,  with  the 
sea  at  its  lower  end  —  picking 
their  path  as  they  went  along 
huge  granite  boulders  or  across  fallen  stones, 
till  they  reached  a  small  beach  of  firm  white 
sand,  on  whose  even  floor  the  waves  were  rol- 
ling in  and  curling  over  magnificently.  It  was 
a  curious  place,  Eustace  thought,  rather  dreary 
than  beautiful.  On  either  side  rose  black 
cliffs,  towering  sheer  into  the  air,  and  shut- 
ting out  overhead  all  but  a  narrow  cleft  of 
murky  sky.     Around,  the  sea  dashed    itself   in 


A  CORNISH   LANDLORD.  17 

angry  white  foam  against  broken  stacks  and  tiny 
weed-clad   skerries.     At   the   end    of    the   first 

point    a   solitary  islet,   just 
separated   from    the    main- 
land by  a  channel  of  seeth- 
ing water,  jutted  above  into 
the    waves,    with     hanging 
tresses  of   blue  and  yellow 
seaweed.    Tyrrel  pointed  to 
it  with  one  hand.     "  That's 
Michael's   Crag,"    he    said, 
laconically.     "You've  seen  it  before,  no  doubt, 
in  half  a   dozen  pictures.     It's  shaped  exactly 
like  St.  Michael's  Mount  in  min- 
iature.    A    marine  painter    fel- 
low down  here's  forever  taking 
its  portrait." 

Le  Neve  gazed  around  him 
with  a  certain  slight  shudder  of 
unspoken  disapprobation.  This 
place  didn't  suit  his  sunny  nature. 
It  was  even  blacker  and  more 
dismal  than  the  brown  moorland  above  it. 
Tyrrel   caught   the   dissatisfaction    in   his  com- 


'^«f^ 


18  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

panion's  eye  before  Le  Neve  had  time  to  frame 
it  in  words. 

**Well,  you  don't  think  much  of  it?"  he  said, 
inquiringly. 

*'I  can't  say  I  do,"  Le  Neve  answered,  with 
apologetic  frankness.  "  I  suppose  South  Amer- 
ica has  spoilt  me  for  this  sort  of 
thing.  But  it's  not  to  my  taste. 
I  call  it  gloomy,  without  being 
even  impressive." 

**  Gloomy,"  Tyrrel  answered  ; 
^  "oh,  yes,  gloomy,  certainly.  But 
impressive ;  well,  yes.  For  my- 
self, I  think  so.  To  me,  it's  all 
terribly;  unspeakably,  ineffably  im- 
pressive. I  come  here  every  day,  and  sit  close 
on  the  sands,  and  look  out  upon  the  sea  by  the 
edge  of  the  breakers.  It's  the  only  place  on 
this  awful  coast  one  feels  perfectly  safe  in.  You 
can't  tumble  over  here,  or  .  .  .  roll  anything 
down  to  do  harm  to  anybody." 

A  steep  cliff  path  led  up  the  sheer  face  of  the 
rock  to  southward.  It  was  a  difficult  path,  a 
mere  foothold  on  the  ledges;  but  its  difficulty 


A  CORNISH   LANDLORD. 


19 


at  once  attracted  the  engineer's  attention. 
"Let's  go  up  that  way!"  he  said,  waving  his 
hand  toward  it  carelessly.  "  The  view  from  on 
top  there  must  be  infinitely  finer." 

"I  believe  it  is,"  Tyrrel  replied,  in  an  uncon- 
cerned voice,  like  one  who  retails  vague  hearsay 
evidence.  "  I  haven't  seen  it  my- 
self since  I  was  a  boy  of  thirteen. 
I  never  go  along  the  top  of  the 
cliffs  on  any  account." 

Le  Neve  gazed  down   on  him, 
astonished.     "You    believe  it  is!" 
he   exclaimed,    unable   to    conceal 
his   surprise   and  wonder.     "You 
never  go  up  there  !     Why,  Walter, 
how  odd  of  you  !     I  was  reading  up  the  Guide- 
book this  morning  before  breakfast,  and  it  says 
the  walk  from    this   point    on    the    Penmorgan 
estate  to  Kynance  Cove  is  the  most  magnificent 
bit  of  wild  cliff  scenery  anywhere  in  Cornwall." 
"So   I'm   told,"  Tyrrel    answered,    unmoved. 
"And  I  remember,  as  a  boy,  I  thought  it  very 
fine.     But  that  was  long  since.     I  never  go  by 
it." 


20 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


top.    .    .    . 
So  unsafe. 


"Why  not?"  Le  Neve  cried. 
Tyrrel  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shook  him- 
self impatiently.     "  I  don't  know,"  he  answered, 
in  a  testy  sort  of  voice.     "  I  don't  like  the  cliff 
It's  so  dangerous,  don't  you  know? 
So  unstable.     The  rocks  go  off  so 
sheer,   and  stones  topple  over  so 
easily." 

Le  Neve  laughed  a  little  laugh 
of  half-disguised  contempt.  He 
was  moving  over  toward  the  path 
up  the  cliff  side  as  they  spoke. 
"Why,  you  used  to  be  a  first-class 
climber  at  school,"  he  said,  attempt- 
ing it,  "especially  when  you  were 
a  little  chap.  I  remember  you  could  scramble 
up  trees  like  a  monkey.  What  fun  we  had  once 
in  the  doctor's  orchard!  And  as  to  the  cliffs, 
you  needn't  go  so  near  you  have  to  tumble  over 
them.  It  seems  ridiculous  for  a  landowner  not 
to  know  a  bit  of  scenery  on  his  own  estate  that's 
celebrated  and  talked  about  all  over  England." 
*'  I'm  not  afraid  of  tumbling  over,  for  myself," 
Tyrrel  answered,  a  little  nettled  by  his  friend's 


A  CORNISH   LANDLORD. 


21 


frank  tone  of  amusement.     "I  don't  feel  myself 
so  useful  to  my  queen  and  country  that  I  rate 

my  own  life  at  too  high  a  figure. 
It's  the  people  below  I'm  chiefly 
concerned  about.  There's  always 
someone  wandering  and  scrambl- 
ing about  these  cliffs,  don't  you 
see? — fishermen,  tourists,  geolo- 
gists. If  you  let  a  loose  stone 
go,  it  may  fall  upon  them  and 
crush  them." 
The  engineer  looked  back  upon  him  with  a 
somewhat  puzzled  expression.  **Well,  that's 
carrying  conscience  a  point  too 
far,"  he  said,  with  one  strong 
hand  on  the  rock  and  one  sure 
foot  in  the  first  convenient 
cranny.  "  If  we're  not  to  climb 
cliffs  for  fear  of  showering  down 
stones  on  those  who  stand  be- 
low, we  won't  dare  to  walk  or 
ride  or  drive  or  put  to  sea  for 
fear  of  running  over  or  colliding  against  some- 
body.    We  shall  have  to  stop  all  our  trains  and 


22 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


keep  all  our  steamers  in  harbor.  There's  noth- 
ing in  this  world  quite  free  from  risk.  We've 
got  to  take  it  and  lump  it.  You  know  the  old 
joke  about  those  dangerous  beds — so  many 
people   die   in   them.     Won't   you   break    your 

rule  just  for  once,  and  come  up 
on  top  here  to  see  the  view 
with    me?" 

Tyrrel  shook  his  head  firmly. 
"Not  to-day,"  he  answered,  with 
a  quiet  smile.  "  Not  by  that 
path,  at  any  rate.  It's  too  risky 
for  my  taste.  The  stones  are  so 
loose.  And  it  overhangs  the  road 
the  quarrymen  go  to  the  cave  by." 

Le  Neve  had  now  made  good  his  foothold  up 
the  first  four  or  five  steps.  "Well,  you've  no 
objection  to  my  going,  at  any  rate?"  he  said, 
with  a  wave  of  one  hand,  in  his  cheerful  good- 
humor.  "You  don't  put  a  veto  on  your  friends 
here,  do  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  not  the  least  objection,"  Tyrrel  an- 
swered, hurriedly,  watching  him  climb,  none 
the  less,  with  nervous  interest.     "  It's  .   .  .   it's 


A  CORNISH   LANDLORD. 


28 


a  purely    personal  and  individual  feeling.     Be- 
sides," he   added,    after  a   pause,   "I  can  stop 

below  here,  if  need  be,  and  warn 
the  quarrymen." 

"I'll  be  back  in  ten  minutes," 
Le  Neve  shouted  from  the  cliff. 
"No,  don't  hurry,"  his  host 
shouted  back.  "  Take  your  own 
time,  it's  safest.  Once  you  get 
to  the  top  you'd  better  walk 
along  the  whole  cliff  path  to 
Kynance.  They  tell  me  its  splendid ;  the  view's 
so  wide ;  and  you  can  easily  get  back  across  the 
moor  by  lunch-time.  Only, 
mind  about  the  edge,  and 
whatever  you  do,  let  no 
stones  roll  over." 

"All  right,"  Le  Neve 
made  answer,  clinging  close 
to  a  point  of  rock.  "  I'll  do 
no  damage.  It's  opening 
out  beautifully  on  every  side 
now.  I  can  see  round  the  corner  to  St. 
Michael's  Mount;  and  the  point  at  the  end 
there  must  be  Tol-Pedn-Penwith." 


^^--c-    -S^ 


CHAPTER  II. 

TKEVENNACK. 

It  was  a  stiff,  hot  climb  to  the  top  of  the  cliff; 
but  as  soon  as  he  reached  it,  Eustace  Le  Neve 
gazed  about  him,  enchanted  at  the  outlook.  He 
was  not  in  love  with  Cornwall,  as  far  as  he'd 
seen  it  yet;  and  to  say  the  truth, 
except  in  a  few  broken  seaward 
glens,  that  high  and  barren  inland 
plateau  has  little  in  it  to  attract  or 
interest  anyone,  least  of  all  a  trav- 
eler fresh  from  the  rich  luxuriance 
of  South  American  vegetation.  But 
the  view  that  burst  suddenly  upon 
Eustace  Le  Neve's  eye  as  he  gained  the  summit 
of  that  precipitous  serpentine  bluff  fairly  took 
his  breath  away.  It  was  a  rich  and  varied  one. 
To  the  north  and  west  loomed  headland  after 
headland,  walled  in  by  steep  crags,  and  stretch- 

(24) 


TREVENNACK. 


25 


ing  away  in  purple  perspective  toward  Marazion, 
St.  Michael's  Mount,  and  the  Penzance  district. 

To  the  south  and  east  huge 
masses  of  fallen  rock  lay  tossed 
in  wild  confusion  over  Kynance 
Cove  and  the  neighboring  bays, 
with  the  bare  boss  of  the  Rill 
and  the  Rearing  Horse  in  the 
foreground.  Le  Neve  stood  and 
looked  with  open  eyes  of  delight. 
It  was  the  first  beautiful  view  he 
had  seen  since  he  came  to  Cornwall;  but  this  at 
least  was  beautiful,  almost  enough  so  to  compen- 
sate for  his  first  acute  disappointment  at  the  bar- 
renness and  gloom  of  the  Lizard 
scenery. 

For  some  minutes  he  could  only 
stand  with  open  eyes  and  gaze  de- 
lighted at  the  glorious  prospect. 
Cliffs,  sea,  and  rocks  all  blended 
with  one  another  in  solemn  har- 
mony. Even  the  blackness  of  the 
great  crags  and  the  scorched  air  of  the  brown 
and  water-logged   moorland    in    the   rear   now 


26  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

ceased  to   oppress  him.     They   fell   into  their 
proper  place  in  one  consistent  and  well-blended 

picture.  But,  after  awhile,  im- 
pelled by  a  desire  to  look  down 
upon  the  next  little  bay  beyond  — 
for  the  coast  is  indented  with  end- 
less coves  and  headlands  —  the  en- 
gineer walked  on  along  the  top  by 
a  coastguard's  path  that  threaded 
its  way,  marked  by  whitened 
stones,  round  the  points  and  gul- 
lies. As  he  did  so,  he  happened 
to  notice  on  the  very  crest  of  the  ridge  that  over- 
looked the  rock  they  called  St. 
Michael's  Crag  a  tall  figure  of  a 
man  silhouetted  in  dark  outline 
against  the  pale  gray  skyline. 
From  the  very  first  moment  Eus- 
tace Le  Neve  set  eyes  upon  that 
striking  figure  this  man  exerted 
upon  him  some  nameless  attraction. 
Even  at  this  distance  the  engineer 
could  see  he  had  a  certain  indefinite  air  of  dig- 
nity and  distinction ;  and  he  poised  himself  lightly 


TREVENNACK.  27 

on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff  in  a  way  that  would 

no   doubt  have  made  Walter  Tyrrell   shudder 

with  fear  and  alarm.     Yet  there  was  something 

about  that  poise  quite  unearthly  and   uncanny; 

the  man  stood  so  airily  on  his  high  rocky  perch 

that  he  reminded  Le  Neve  at  once  of  nothing  so 

much  as  of  Giovanni  da  Bolognas  Mercury  in 

the  Bargello  at  Florence ;  he  seemed  to  spurn  the 

earth  as  if  about  to  spring  from 

it  with  a  bound ;  his  feet  were 

as   if   freed   from  the  common 

bond  of  gravity. 

It  was  a  figure  that  belonged 
naturally  to  the  Cornish  moor- 
land. 

Le  Neve  advanced  along  the 

path  till  he  nearly  reached  the  su^it  ^ere  the 
man  was  standing.  The  point  itself  was  a  rugged 
tor,  or  little  group  of  bare  and  weather-worn 
rocks,  overlooking  the  sea  and  St.  Michael's 
Crag  below  it.  As  the  engineer  drew  near  he  saw 
the  stranger  was  not  alone.  Under  shelter  of 
the  rocks  a  girl  lay  stretched  at  length  on  a 
loose  camel's-hair  rug;  her  head  was  hatless ;  in 


28 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


her  hand  she  held,  half  open,  a  volume  of  poetry. 
She  looked  up  as  Eustace  passed,  and  he  noted 
at  a  glance  that  she  was  dark  and 
pretty.  The  Cornish  type  once  more ; 
bright  black  eyes,  glossy  brown  hair, 
a  rich  complexion,  a  soft  and  rounded 
beauty. 

"  Cleer,"  the  father  said,  warningly, 
in  a  modulated  voice,  as  the  young 
man  approached,  "don't  let  your  hat 
blow  away,  dear;  it's  close  by  the 
path  there." 
The  girl  he  called  Cleer  darted  forward  and 
picked  it  up,  with  a  little  blush  of  confusion. 
Eustace  Le  Neve  raised  his  hat,  by  way  of  ex- 
cuse for  disturbing  her,  and  was  about  to  pass 
on,  but  the  view  down  into 
the  bay  below,  with  the  jagged 
and  pointed  crag  islanded  in 
white  foam,  held  him  spell- 
bound for  a  moment.  He 
paused  and  gazed  at  it.  "This 
is  a  lovely  lookout,  sir,"  he  said,  after  a  second's 
silence,  as  if  to  apologize  for  his  intrusion,  turn- 


TREVENNACK. 


29 


ing  round  to  the  stranger,  who  still  stood  poised 
Hke  a  statue  on  the  natural  pedestal  of  lichen- 
covered  rock  beside  him.  "A  lovely  lookout 
and  a  wonderful  bit  of  wild  coast  scenery." 

"Yes,"  the  stranger  answered,  in  a  voice  as  full 
of  dignity  as  his  presence  and  his  mien.  *'  It's 
the  grandest  spot  along  the  Cornish  coast.  From 
here  you  can  see  in  one  view 
St.  Michael's  Mount,  St.  Mi- 
chael's Crag,  St.  MichaePs 
Church,  and  St.  Michael's 
Promontory.  The  whole  of 
this  country,  indeed,  just  teems 
with  St.  Michael." 

"Which  is  St.  Michael's 
Promontory?"  the  young  man  asked,  with  a  side 
glance  at  Cleer,  as  they  called  the  daughter. 
He  wasn't  sorry  indeed  for  the  chance  of  having 
a  second  look  at  her. 

"Why  Land's  End,  of  course,"  the  dignified 
stranger  answered  at  once,  descending  from  his 
perch  as  he  spoke,  with  a  light  spring  more  like 
a  boy's  than  a  mature  man's.  ''  You  must  surely 
know  those  famous  lines  in  '  Lycidas'  about 


30 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


*  The  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 
Where  the  Great  Vision  of  the  guarded  mount 
Looks  towards  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold; 
Look  homeward,  angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth.' " 

"  Yes,  I  know  them,  of  course,"  Eustace 
answered  with  ingenuous  shyness ;  "  but  as  so 
often  happens  with  poetry,  to  say  the  truth,  I'm 

afraid  I  attached  no  very  def- 
inite idea  to  them.  The  music 
so  easily  obscures  the  sense ; 
though  the  moment  you  sug- 
gest it,  I  see  they  can't  pos- 
sibly mean  anyone  but  St. 
Michael." 

"  My  father's  very  much  in- 
terested in  the  antiquities  of  Cornwall,"  the  girl 
Cleer  put  in,  looking  up  at  him  somewhat  tim- 
idly; "so  he  naturally  knows  all  these  things, 
and  perhaps  he  expects  others  to  know  them 
unreasonably." 

"We've  every  ground  for  knowing  them,"  the 
father  went  on,  glancing  down  at  her  with  tender 
affection.  "  We're  Cornish  to  the  backbone  — 
Cornish  born  and  bred,  if  ever  there  were  Corn- 


TREVENNACK. 


31 


ishmen.  Every  man  of  my  ancestors  was  a  Tre, 
Pol,  or  Pen,  to  the  tenth  generation  backward ; 
and  I'm  descended  from  the  Bassets,  too  — the 
Bassets  of  Tehidy.  You  must  have  heard  of  the 
Bassets  in  Cornish  history.  They  owned  St. 
Michael's  Mount  before  these  new-fangled  St. 
Aubyn  people." 

"  It's  Lord  St.  Levan's  now, 
isn't  it  ?"  Le  Neve  put  in,  anx- 
ious to  show  off  his  knowledge 
of  the  local  aristocracy. 

"Yes,  they've  made  him  Lord 
St.  Levan,"  the  dignified  stran- 
ger answered,  with  an  almost 
imperceptible  curl  of  his  delicate 
lower  lip.     "  They've  made  him 
Lord  St.  Levan.     The  queen  can  make  one  any- 
thing.    He  was  plain  Sir  John  St.  Aubyn  before 
that,  you  know;  his  family  bought  the  Mount 
from   my   ancestors  —  the    Bassets    of   Tehidy. 
They're  new  people  at  Marazion  —  new  people 
altogether.    They've  only  been  there  since  1660." 
Le  Neve  smiled  a  quiet  smile.     That  seemed 
to  him  in  his  innocence  a  fairly  decent  antiquity 


32 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


as  things  go  nowadays.     But  the  dignified  stran- 
ger appeared  to  think  so  little  of  it  that  his  new 

acquaintance  abstained  from 
making  note  or  comment  on  it. 
He  waited  half  a  moment  to 
see  whether  Cleer  would  speak 
again  ;  he  wanted  to  hear  that 
pleasant  voice  once  more ;  but 
as  she  held  her  peace,  he 
merely    raised    his    hat,    and 


'^"""  accepting  the  dismissal,  con- 
tinued his  walk  round  the  cliffs  alone.  Yet, 
somehow,  the  rest  of  the  way,  the  figure  of  that 
statuesque  stranger  haunted 
him.  He  looked  back  once 
or  twice.  The  descendant  of 
the  Bassets  of  Tehidy  had  now 
resumed  his  high  pedestal  up- 
on the  airy  tor,  and  was  gaz- 
ing away  seaward,  like  the 
mystic  Great  Vision  of  his  own 
Mil  tonic  quotation,  toward 
the  Spanish  coast,  wrapped  round  in  a  loos< 
cloak  of  most  poetic  dimensions. 


TREVENNACK.  33 

Le   Neve  wondered   who  he  was,  and  what 
errand  could  have  brought  him  there. 

At  the  point  called  the  Rill,  he  diverged  from 

the  path  a  bit,  to  get  that  beautiful  glimpse  down 

into   the   rock-strewn    cove  and  smooth   white 

sands  at   Kynance.      A  coastguard  with   brush 

and  pail  was  busy  as  he  passed 

by  renewing  the  whitewash  on 

the   landmark    boulders    that 

point  the  path  on  dark  nights 

to  the  stumbling  wayfarer.   Le 

Neve  paused  and  spoke  to  him. 

"That's   a   fine-looking    man, 

my  friend,  the  gentleman  on 

the  tor  there,"  he  said,  after  a 

few  commonplaces.     "  Do  you 

happen  to  know  his  name?   Is  he  spending  the 

summer  about  here  ?" 

The  man  stopped  in  his  work  and  looked  up. 
His  eye  lighted  with  pleasure  on  the  dignified 
stranger.  "  Yes ;  he's  one  of  the  right  sort,  sir," 
he  answered,  with  a  sort  of  proprietary  pride  in 
the  distinguished  figure.  *'A  real  old  Cornish 
gentleman  of  the  good  old  days,  he  is,  if  ever  you 


34 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


see   one.     That's   Trevennack   of   Trevennack ; 
and  Miss  Cleer's  his  daughter.     Fine  old  crusted 

Cornish  names,  every  one  of 
them;  I'm  a  Cornishman  my- 
self, and  I  know  them  well, 
the  whole  grand  lot  of  them. 
TheTrevennacks  and  the  Bas- 
sets, they  was  all  one,  time 
gone  by;  they  owned  St. 
Michael's  Mount,  and  Pen- 
zance, and  Marazion,  and 
MuUion  here.  They  owned  Penmorgan,  too, 
afore  the  Tyrrels  bought  it  up. 
Michael  Basset  Trevennack,  that's 
the  gentleman's  full  name;  the  eld- 
est son  of  the  eldest  son  is  always  a 
Michael,  to  keep  up  the  memory  of 
the  times  gone  by,  when  they  was 
Guardians  of  the  Mount  and  St. 
Michael's  Constables.  And  the 
lady's  Miss  Cleer,  after  St.  Cleer  of 
Cornwall  —  her  that  gives  her  name 
still  to  St.  Cleer  by  Liskeard." 

"And   do   they  live  here  ?"   Le  Neve  asked, 


TREVENNACK.  35 

much  interested  in  the  intelligent  local  tone  of 
the  man's  conversation. 

"Lord  bless  you,  no,  sir.     They  don't  live  no- 
where.     They're  in  the  service,  don't  you  see. 
They  lives  in  Malta  or  Gibraltar,  or  wherever  the 
Admiralty  sends  him.     He's  an  Admiralty  man, 
he  is,  connected  with  the  Vittling  Yard.     I  was 
in  the  navy  myself,  on  the  good 
old   Billy    Ruffun,   afore   I    was 
put  in  the  Coastguards,   and  I 
knowed  him  well  when  we  was 
both   together   on  the  Mediter- 
ranean   Station.       Always     the 
same  grand  old  Cornish  gentle- 
man,  with  them   gracious   man- 
ners, so  haughty  like,  an'  yet  so  condescending, 
wherever  they  put  him.    A  gentleman  born.    No 
gentleman   on   earth    more    the  gentleman   all 
round  than  Trevennack  of  Trevennack." 

"Then  he's  staying  down  here  on  a  visit  ?"  Le 
Neve  went  on,  curiously,  peering  over  the  edge 
of  the  cliffs,  as  he  spoke,  to  observe  the  cor- 
morants. 

"  Don't  you  go  too  nigh,  sir,"  the  coastguard 


36  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

put  in,  warningly.  "She's  slippery  just  there. 
Yes,  they're  staying  down  in  Oliver's  lodgings  at 
Gunwalloe.  He's  on  leave,  that's  where  it  is. 
Every  three  or  four  years  he  gets  leave  from  the 
Vittling  and  comes  home  to  England ;  and  then 
he  always  ups  and  runs  down  to  the  Lizard,  and 

wanders  about  on  the  cliffs  by 
himself  like  this,  with  Miss  Cleer 
to  keep  him  company.  He's 
a  chip  of  the  old  rock,  he  is  — 
Cornish  granite  to  the  core,  as 
the  saying  goes ;  and  he  can't 
be  happy  away  from  it.  You'll 
see  him  any  day  standing  like 
that  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
cliff,  looking  across  over  the 
water,  as  if  he  was  a  coastguard  hisself,  and 
always  sort  o'  perched  on  the  highest  bit  of  rock 
he  can  come  nigh  anywhere." 

"He  looks  an  able  man,"  Le  Neve  went  on, 
still  regarding  the  stranger,  poised  now  as  be- 
fore on  the  very  summit  of  the  tor,  with  his 
cloak  wrapped  around  him. 

"Able  ?    I  believe  you  !   \v  ny,  he's  the  very 


TREVENNACK. 


37 


heart   and   soul,  the   brains   and  senses  of  the 
Vittling:  Department.     The  navy'd  starve  if  it 

wasn't  for  him.     He's  a  Com- 
panion of  St.  Michael  and  St. 
Georo^e,    Mr.    Trevennack   is. 
'Tain't  every  one  as  is  a  Com- 
panion of  St.  Michael  and  St. 
George.    The  queen  made  him 
that  herself  for  his  management  of  the  Vittling." 
"  It's  a  strange  place  for  a  man  in  his  position 
to  spend  his  holiday,"  Le  Neve  went  on,  reflect- 
ively.    "You'd  think,   coming  back  so  seldom, 
he'd  want  to  see  something  of  London,  Brighton, 
Scarborough,  Scotland." 

The  coastguard  looked  up, 
and  held  his  brush  idle  in  one 
hand  with  a  mysterious  air. 
"Not  when  you  come  to  know 
his  history,"  he  answered,  gaz- 
ing hard  at  him. 

''Oh,  there's  a  history  to  him, 
is  there?"   Le  Neve  answered, 

not  surprised.     "  Well,  he  certainly  has  the  look 
of  it." 


38 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


The  coastguard  nodded  his  head  and  dropped 
his  voice  still  lower.     "  Yes,  there's  a  history  to 

him,"  he  replied.  "And  that's 
why  you'll  always  see  Treven- 
nack  of  Trevennack  on  the  top 
of  the  cliff,  and  never  at  the  bot- 
tom.— Thank'ee  very  kindly,  sir; 
it  ain't  often  we  gets  a  chance 
of  a  good  cigar  at  Kynance. — 
Well,  it  must  be  fifteen  year  now 
—  or  maybe  sixteen  —  I  don't 
mind  the  right  time  — Trevennack  came  down  in 
old  Squire  Tyrrel's  days,  him 
as  is  buried  at  Mullion  Church 
town,  and  stopped  at  Gunwal- 
loe,  same  as  he  might  be  stop- 
ping there  in  his  lodgings  now- 
adays. He  had  his  only  son 
with  him,  too,  a  fine-looking 
young  gentleman,  they  say,  for 
his  age,  for  I  wasn't  here  then 
— I  was  serving  my  time  under 
Admiral  De  Horsey  on  the  good  old  Billy 
Ruffun  —  the  very  picture   of  Miss  Cleer,  and 


TREVENNACK. 


89 


twelve  year  old  or  thereabouts  ;  and  they  called 
him  Master  Michael,  the  same  as  they  always 
call  the  eldest  boy  of  the  Trevennacks  of  Tre- 
vennack.  Aye,  and  one  day  they  two,  father 
and  son,  were  a-strolling  on  the  beach  under  the 
cliffs  by  Penmorgan  —  mind  them  stones  on  the 
edge,  sir;  they're  powerful  loose  —  don't  you  drop 
none  over — when,  just  as  you  might  loosen  them 
pebbles  there  with  your  foot, 
over  came  a  shower  o'  small 
bits  from  the  cliff  on  top,  and 
as  sure  as  youVe  livin',  hit  the 
two  on  'em  right  so,  sir.  Mr. 
Trevennack  himself,  he  wasn't 
much  hurt — just  bruised  a  bit 
on  the  forehead,  for  he  was  wearing  a  Scotch 
cap;  but  Master  Michael,  well,  it  caught  him 
right  on  the  top  of  the  head,  and  afore  they 
knowed  what  it  was,  it  smashed  his  skull  in.  Aye, 
that  it  did,  sir,  just  so ;  it  smashed  the  boy's 
skull  in.  They  carried  him  home,  and  cut  the 
bone  out,  and  trepanned  him ;  but  bless  you,  it 
wa'n't  no  good ;  he  lingered  on  for  a  night,  and 
then,  afore  morning,  he  died,  insensible." 


40  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

"What  a  terrible  story!"  Le  Neve  exclaimed, 
with  a  face  of  horror,  recoiling  instinctively  from 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  that  had  wrought  this  evil. 
"Aye,  you  may  well  say  so.  It  was  rough  on 
him,"  the  coastguard  went  on,  with  the  calm  crit- 
icism of  his  kind.  "His  only  son  — and  all  in  a 
minute  like,  as  you  may  term  it  —  such  a  promis- 
ing young  gentleman !  It  was 
rough,  terrible  rough  on  him.  So 
from  that  day  to  this,  whenever 
Trevennack  has  a  holiday,  down 
he  comes  here  to  Gunwalloe,  and 
walks  about  the  cliffs,  and  looks 
across  upon  the  rocks  by  Penmor- 
gan  Point,  or  stands  on  the  top  of 
Michael's  Crag,  just  over  against 
the  spot  wnere  his  boy  was  hurted.  An'  he 
never  wants  to  go  nowhere  else  in  all  England, 
but  just  to  stand  like  that  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  cliff,  and  look  over  from  atop,  and  brood, 
and  think  about  it." 

As  the  man  spoke,  it  flashed  across  Le  Neve's 
mind  at  once  that  Trevennack's  voice  had  quiv- 
ered with  a  strange  thrill  of  emotion  as  he  uttered 


TREVENNACK. 


41 


that  line,  no  doubt  pregnant  with  meaning  for 

him.    "Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt 

with  ruth."  He  was  thinking  of 
his  own  boy,  most  likely,  not  of 
the  poet's  feigned  Lycidas. 

"He'll  stand  like  that  for 
hours,"  the  coastguard  went  on 
confidentially,  "  musing  like  to 
himself,  with  Miss  Cleer  by  his 
side,  reading  in  her  book  or  do- 
ing her  knitting  or  something. 

But  you  couldn't  get  him,  for  love  or  money,  to 

go  below  the  cliffs,  no,  not  if  you  was  to  kill  him. 

He's  afraid  of  going  below —  that's  where  it  is  ; 

he  always  thinks  something's 

sure  to  tumble  from  the  top 

on  him.     Natural  enough,  too, 

after  all  that's  been.     He  likes 

to  get  as  high  as  ever  he  can 

in  the  air,  where  he  can  see  all 

around   him,    and    be   certain 

there  ain't  anyone  above  to  let 

anything   drop    as   might   hurt  him.     Michael's 

Crag's  where  he  likes  best  to  stand,  on  the  top 


i 


42 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


there  by  the  Horse;   he  always   chooses  them 
spots.     In  Malta  it  was  San  Mickayly ;    and  in 

Gibraltar  it  was  the  summit  of 
Europa  Point,  by  the  edge  of  the 
Twelve  Apostles'  battery." 

"How  curious  !"  Le  Neve  ex- 
claimed. "It's  just  the  other 
way  on  now,  with  my  friend  Mr. 
Tyrrel.  I'm  stopping  at  Pen- 
morgan ,  but  Mr.  Tyrrel  won't 
go  on  top  of  the  cliffs  for  any- 
thing. He  says  he's  afraid  he  might  let  some- 
thing drop  by  accident  on  the  people  below  him." 

The  coastguard  grew  sud- 
denly  graver.  "Like  enough," 
he  said,  stroking  his  chin. 
"  Like  enough ;  and  right, 
too,  for  him,  sir.  You  see, 
he's  a  Tyrrel,  and  he's  bound 
to  be  cautious.' 

"Why  so  ?  "  Le  Neve  asked, 
somewhat  puzzled.  "  Why  a 
Tyrrel  more  than  the  rest  of  us  ?" 

The  man  hesitated  and  stared  hard  at  him. 


TREVENNACK.  43 

"Well,  it's  like  this,  sir,"  he  answered  at  last,  with 
the  shamefaced  air  of  the  intelligent  laboring 

man  who  confesses  to  a  super- 
stition. "  We  Cornish  are  old- 
fashioned,  and  we  has  our  ideas. 
The  T)Trels  are  new  people 
like,  in  Cornwall,  as  we  say; 
they  came  in  only  with  Crom- 
well's folk,  when  he  fought  the 
Grenvilles;  but  it's  well  be- 
known  in  the  county  bad  luck 

goes  with  them.     You   see,    they're  descended 

from  that  Sir  Walter  Tyrrel  you'll  read  about  in 

the  history  books,  him  as  killed 

King   William    Rufious    in    the 

New    Forest.       You'll    hear    all 

about     it     at     Rufious'     Stone, 

where  the  king  was  killed  ;    Sir 

Walter,  he  drew,  and  he  aimed 

at   a   deer,    and    the    king  was  ^^ 

standing  by;    and  the  bullet,   it'"' 

glanced  aside  —  or  maybe  it  was 

afore  bullets,  and  then  it'd  be  an  arrow;  but  any- 
how, one  or  t'other,  it  hit  the  king,  and  he  fell, 


44 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


and  died  there.  The  stone's  standing  to  this 
day  on  the  place  where  he  fell,  and  I've  seen  it, 
and  read  of  it  when  I  was  in  hospital  at  Net- 
ley.  But  Sir  Walter,  he  got  clear 
away,  and  ran  across  to  France  ; 
and  ever  since  that  time  they've 
called  the  eldest  son  of  the  Tyr- 
rels  Walter,  same  as  they've  called 
the  eldest  son  of  the  Trevennacks 
Michael.  But  they  say  every 
Walter  Tyrrel  that's  born  into 
the  world  is  bound,  sooner  or  later,  to  kill  his 
man  unintentional.  So  he  do  right  to  avoid 
going  too  near  the  cliffs,  I  say.  We  shouldn't 
tempt  Providence.  And  the  Tyrrels  is  all  a 
conscientious  people." 


CHAPTER   III. 


FACE    TO    FACE. 

When  Eustace  Le  Neve  returned  to  lunch  at 
Penmorgan  that  day  he  was  silent  to  his  host 
about  Trevennack  of  Trevennack.     To  say  the 
truth,    he   was    so    much    at- 
tracted  by    Miss    Cleer's   ap- 
pearance   that    he   didn't  feel 
inclined    to    mention    having 
met  her.     But  he  wanted  to 
meet   her  again   for  all  that, 
and   hoped   he   would  do  so. 
Perhaps   Tyrrel   might   know 
the  family,  and  ask  them  round  to  dine  some 
night.     At  any  rate,  society  is  rare  at  the  Liz- 
ard.    Sooner  or  later,  he  felt  sure,  he'd  knock 
up  against  the  mysterious  stranger  somewhere. 
And  that  involved  the  probability  of  knocking 
up   against  the  mysterious  stranger's  beautiful 
daughter. 

(46) 


46 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Next   morning   after  breakfast,   however,   he 
made  a  vigorous  effort  to  induce  Walter  Tyrrel 

to  mount  the  cliff  and  look  at 
the  view  from  Penmorgan 
Point  toward  the  Rill  and 
Kynance.  It  was  absurd,  he 
said  truly,  for  the  proprietor 
of  such  an  estate  never  to 
■^^  -  =«eL,  have  seen  the  most  beautiful 
^H^^^^^itS  spot  in  it.  But  Tyrrel  was 
iHH^k    ^*  obdurate.     On   the   point   of 

actually  mounting  the  cliff  itself  he  wouldn't 
yield  one  jot  or  tittle.  Only,  after  much  per- 
suasion, he  consented  at  last  to 
cross  the  headland  by  the  fields 
at  the  back  and  come  out  at  the 
tor  above  St.  Michael's  Crag, 
provided  always  Eustace  would 
promise  he'd  neither  go  near  the 
edge  himself  nor  try  to  induce 
his  friend  to  approach  it. 

Satisfied   with   this  lame  com- 
promise —  for  he  really  wished  his  host  to  enjoy 
that  glorious  view — Eustace  Le  Neve  turned  up 


.Nf^v' 


FACE   TO  FACE. 


47 


the  valley  behind  the  house,  with  Walter  Tyrrel 
by  his  side,  and  after  traversing  several  fields, 

through  gaps  in  the  stone 
walls,  led  out  his  companion 
at  last  to  the  tor  on  the  head- 
land. 

As  they  approached  it  from 
behind,  the  engineer  observed, 
not  without  a  faint  thrill  of 
pleasure,  that  Trevennack's 
stately  figure  stood  upright  as  before  upon  the 
wind-swept  pile  of  fissured  rocks,  and  that  Cleer 
sat  reading  under  its  shelter  to  leeward.  But 
by  her  side  this  morning  sat  also  an  elder  lady, 
whom  Eustace  instinctively 
recognized  as  her  mother — a 
graceful,  dignified  lady,  with 
silvery  white  hair  and  black 
Cornish  eyes,  and  features 
not  untinged  by  the  mellow- 
ing, hallowing  air  of  a  great 
sorrow. 

Le  Neve  raised  his  hat  as  they  drew  near, 
with  a  pleased  smile  of  welcome,  and  Treven- 


48 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


nack  and  his  daughter  both  bowed  in  return. 
"A  glorious  morning  ! "  the  engineer  said,  drink- 
ing in  to  the  full  the  lovely  golden  haze  that 
flooded  and  half-obscured  the  Land's  End  dis- 
trict ;  and  Trevennack  assented  gravely.  "The 
crag  stands  up  well  in  this  sunshine  against  the 
dark  water  behind,"  he  said,  waving  one  gra- 
cious hand  toward  the  island 
at  his  foot,  and  poising  lighter 
than  ever. 

"Oh,  take  care!"  Walter 
Tyrrel  cried,  looking  up  at 
him,  on  tenterhooks.  "  It's  so 
dangerous  up  there  !  You 
might  tumble  any  minute." 
"/  never  tumble,"  Treven- 
nack made  answer  with  solemn  gravity,  spread- 
ing one  hand  on  either  side  as  if  to  balance 
himself  like  an  acrobat.  But  he  descended  as 
he  spoke  and  took  his  place  beside  them. 

Tyrrel  looked  at  the  view  and  looked  at  the 
pretty  girl.  It  was  evident  he  was  quite  as 
much  struck  by  the  one  as  by  the  other.  In- 
deed, of  the  two,  Cleer  seemed  to  attract  the 


FACE   TO   FACE.  49 

larger  share  of  his  attention.     For  some  minutes 
they  stood  and  talked,  all  five  of  them  together, 
without  further  introduction  than  their  common 
admiration  for  that  exquisite  bay,  in  which  Tre- 
vennack  appeared  to  take  an  almost  proprietary 
interest.     It  gratified  him,  obviously,  a  Cornish 
man,  that  these  strangers  (as  he  thought  them) 
should  be  so    favorably    im- 
pressed by  his  native  county. 
But    Tyrrel    all    the     while 
looked  ill  at  ease,  though  he 
sidled   away   as   far   as  pos- 
sible from  the   edge  of  the 
cliff,    and    sat     down     near 
Cleer  at  a  safe  distance  from 
the  precipice.     He  was  silent  and  preoccupied. 
That  mattered  but  little,  however,  as  the    rest 
did  all  the  talking,  especially  Trevennack,  who 
turned  out  to  be  indeed  a  perfect  treasure-house 
of  Cornish  antiquities  and  Cornish  folk-lore. 

"  I  generally  stand  below,  on  top  of  Michael's 
Crag,"  he  said  to  Eustace,  pointing  it  out, 
"when  the  tide  allows  it;  but  when  it's  high,  as 
it  is  now,  such  a  roaring  and  seething  scour  sets 


50 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


through  the  channel  between  the  rock  and  the 
mainland  that  no  swimmer  could  stem  it;  and 

then  I  come  up  here,  and 
look  down  from  above  upon 
it.  It's  the  finest  point  on  all 
our  Cornish  coast,  this  point 
we  stand  on.  It  has  the  wid- 
est view,  the  purest  air,  the 
hardest  rock,  the  highest  and 
most  fantastic  tor  of  any  of 
them." 

"  My  husband's  quite  an  enthusiast  for  this 
particular  place,"  Mrs.  Trevennack  interposed, 
watching  his  face  as  she  spoke 
with  a  certain  anxious  and  ill- 
disguised  wifely  solicitude. 
"He's  come  here  for  years.  It 
has  many  associations  for  us." 

"Some  painful  and  some 
happy,"  Cleer  added,  half 
aloud  ;  and  Tyrrel,  nodding  as- 
sent, looked  at  her  as  if  ex- 
pecting some  marked  recognition. 

"  You  should  see  it  in  the  pilchard  season," 


FACE   TO  FACE. 


61 


her  father  went  on,  turning  suddenly  to  Eustace 
with  much  animation  in  his  voice.     **  That's  the 

time  for  Cornwall  —  a  month 
or   so    later  than   now  —  you 
should  see  it  then,  for  pictur- 
esqueness  and  variety.  'When 
the  corn  is  in  the  shock,'  says 
our  Cornish  rhyme,  '  Then  the 
fish  are  off  the  rock' — and  the 
rock's    St.     Michael's.        The 
huer,  as  we  call  him,  for  he  gives  the  hue  and 
cry  from  the  hill-top   lookout  when  the  fish  are 
coming,  he  stands  on  Michael's  Crag  just  below 
there,   as     I    stand    myself    so 
often,  and   when  he  sights  the 
shoals    by    the    ripple    on    the 
water,  he  motions  to  the  boats 
which  way  to  go  for   the   pil- 
chards.      Then    the    rowers    in 
the    lurkers,    as    we    call    our 
seine-boats,  surround  the  shoal 
with    a   tuck-net,    or   drag    the 
seine  into  Mullion  Cove,  all  alive  with  a  mass  of 
shimmering   silver.     The  jowsters    come   down 


62 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


with  their  carts  on  to  the  beach,  and  hawk  them 
about  round  the  neighborhood —  I've  seen  them 
twelve  a  penny ;  while  in  the  curing-houses 
they're  bulking  them  and  pressing  them  as  if  for 
dear  life,  to  send  away  to  Genoa,  Leghorn,  and 
Naples.  That's  where  all  our  fish  go  —  to  the 
Catholic  south.     *  The  Pope  and  the  Pilchards,' 

says  our  Cornish  toast ;  for  it's 
the  Friday  fast  that  makes  our 
only  market." 

"  You  can  see  them  on  St. 
George's  Island  in  Looe  Har- 
bor," Cleer  put  in  quite  inno- 
cently. "They're  like  a  sea  of 
silver  there  —  on  St.  George's 
Island." 

"My  dear,"  her  father  corrected  with  that 
grave,  old-fashioned  courtesy  which  the  coast- 
guard had  noted  and  described  as  at  once  so 
haughty  and  yet  so  condescending,  "  how  often 
I've  begged  of  you  not  to  call  it  St.  George's 
Island !  It's  St.  Nicholas'  and  St.  Michael's — 
one  may  as  well  be  correct  —  and  till  a  very  re- 
cent date  a  chapel  to  St.  Michael  actually  stood 


FACE   TO  FACE. 


63 


there  upon  the  rocky  top ;  it  was  only  destroyed, 
you  remember,  at  the  time  of  the  Reformation." 
"Everybody  calls  it  St.  George's  now,"  Cleer 
answered,  with  girlish  persistence.  And  her 
father  looked  round  at  her  sharply,  with  an  im- 
patient snap  of  the  fingers,  while  Mrs.  Treven- 
nack's  eye  was  fixed  on  him  now  more  carefully 
and  more  earnestly,  Tyrrel 
observed,  than  ever. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is,"  Eus- 
tace Le  Neve  interposed,  to 
spare  Cleer's  feelings,  "that 
so  many  high  places,  tops  of 
mountains  and  so  forth,  seem 
always  to  be  dedicated  to  St. 
Michael  in  particular?  He 
seems  to  love  such  airy  sites.  There's  St.  Mi- 
chael's Mount  here,  you  know,  and  Mont  St. 
Michel  in  Normandy;  and  at  Le  Puy,  in  Au- 
vergne,  there's  a  St.  Michael's  Rock,  and  at  ever 
so  many  other  places  I  can't  remember  this 
minute." 

Trevennack  was  in  his  element.      The  ques- 
tion just  suited  him.     He  smiled  a  curious  smile 


04 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


of  superior  knowledge.      "You've  come  to  the 
right  place  for  information,"  he   said,  blandly, 

turning  round  to  the  engineer. 
"  I'm  a  Companion  of  St.  Mi- 
chael and  St.  George  myself,  and 
my  family,  as  I  told  you,  once 
owned  St.  Michael's  Mount ;  so, 
for  that  and  various  other  rea- 
sons, I've  made  a  special  study  of 
St.  Michael  the  Archangel,  and 
all  that  pertains  to  him."  And 
then  he  went  on  to  give  a  long  and  learned  dis- 
quisition, which  Le  Neve  and  Walter  Tyrrel 
only  partially  followed,  about 
the  connection  between  St. 
Michael  and  the  Celtic  race, 
as  well  as  about  the  archan- 
gel's peculiar  love  for  high 
and  airy  situations.  Most  of 
the  time,  indeed,  Le  Neve  weis 
more  concerned  in  watching 
Cleer  Trevennack's  eyes,  as 
her  father  spoke,  than  in  listening  to  the  civil 
servant's  profound  dissertation.     He  gathered. 


FACE   TO   FACE. 


55 


however,  from  the  part  he  caught,  that  St. 
Michael  the  Archangel  had  been  from  early 
days  a  very  important  and  powerful  Cornish 
personage,  and  that  he  clung  to  high  places  on 
the  tors  and  rocks  because  he  had  to  fight  and 
subdue  the  Prince  of  the  Air,  whom  he  always 
destroyed  at  last  on  some  pointed  pinnacle. 
And  now  that  he  came  to  think 
of  it,  Eustace  vaguely  recol- 
lected he  had  always  seen  St. 
Michael,  in  pictures  or  stained 
glass  windows,  delineated  just 
so  —  with  drawn  sword  and  war- 
rior's mien  —  in  the  act  of  tri- 
umphing over  his  dragon-like 
enemy  on  the  airy  summit  of 
some  tall  jagged  crag  or  rock-bound  precipice. 

As  for  Mrs.  Trevennack,  she  watched  her  hus- 
band every  moment  he  spoke  with  a  close  and 
watchful  care,  which  Le  Neve  hardly  noticed, 
but  which  didn't  for  a  minute  escape  Walter 
Tyrrel's  more  piercing  and  observant  scrutiny. 

At  last,  as  the  amateur  lecturer  was  beginning 
to  grow   somewhat   prolix,   a  cormorant  below 


56  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

created  a  slight  diversion  for  awhile  by  settling 

in  his  flight  on  the  very  highest  point  of  Mi- 
chael's Crag,  and  proceeding  to 
preen  his  glittering  feathers  in 
the  full  golden  flood  of  that 
bright  August  sunlight. 

With  irrepressible  boyish  in- 
stinct Le  Neve  took  up  a  stone, 
and  was  just  on  the  point  of  aim- 
ing it  (quite  without  reason)  at 
the  bird  on  the  pinnacle. 
But  before  he  could  let  it  go,  the  two  other 

men,  moved  as  if  by  a  single  im- 
pulse, had  sprung  forward  with 

a   bound,   and  in  the   self-same 

tone  and  in  the  self-same  words 

cried  out  with  one  accord,  in  a 

wildly  excited  voice,  "  For  God's 

sake,    don't   throw !     You  don't 

know  how  dangerous  it  is  ! " 
Le   Neve  let  his   hand   drop 

flat,  and   allowed   the   stone   to 

fall  from  it.     As  he  did  so  the  two  others  stood 

back  a  pace,  as  if  guarding  him,  but  kept  their 


FACE   TO   FACE. 


67 


hands  still  ready  to  seize  the  engineer's  arm  if 

he  made  the  slightest  attempt  at  motion.  Eus- 
tace felt  they  were  watching 
him  as  one  might  watch  a 
madman.  For  a  moment  they 
were  silent.  Trevennack  was 
the  first  to  speak.  His  voice 
had  an  earnest  and  solemn 
ring  in  it,  like  a  reproving 
angel's.      *'  How  can  you  tell 

what  precious  life  may  be  passing  below?"  he 

said,  with  stern  emphasis,  fixing   Le  Neve  with 

his    reproachful    eye.       "  The 

stone    might    fall    short.        It 

might  drop  out  of  sight.     You 

might     kill    whomsoever    i  t 

struck,  unseen.     And  then  " — 

he   drank    in    a   deep    breath, 

gasping  —  "  you    would    know 

you  were  a  murderer." 

Walter  Tyrrel  drew  himself 

up  at  the  words  like  one  stung. 

"No,    no!    not   a    murderer!"    he  cried;  "not 

quite  as   bad   as   a   murderer!     It  wouldn't  be 


58 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


murder,  surely.  It  would  be  accidental  homi- 
cide —  unintentional,  unwilled  —  a  terrible  result 
of  most  culpable  carelessness,  of  course;  but  it 
wouldn't  be  quite  murder ;  don't  call  it  mur- 
der. I  can't  allow  that.  Not  that  name  by 
any  means.    .    .    .    Though   to  the  end  of  your 

life,  Eustace,  if  you  were  to 
kill  a  man  so,  you'd  never 
cease  to  regret  it  and  mourn 
over  it  daily ;  you'd  never 
cease  to  repent  your  guilty 
carelessness  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes." 

He  spoke  so  seriously,  so 
earnestly,  with  such  depth  of 
personal  feeling,  that  Treven- 
nack,  starting  back,  stood  and  gazed  at  him 
slowly  with  those  terrible  eyes,  like  one  who 
awakens  by  degrees  from  a  painful  dream  to 
some  awful  reality.  Tyrrel  winced  before  his 
scrutiny.  For  a  moment  the  elder  man  just 
looked  at  him  and  stared.  Then  he  took  one 
step  forward.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  very  low 
voice,  half  broken  with  emotion,  "I  had  a  dear 


FACE   TO   FACE. 


69 


son  of  my  own  once ;  a  very  dear,  dear  son.    He 
was  killed  by  such  an  accident  on  this  very  spot. 

No  wonder  I  remember  it." 

Mrs.Trevennackand  Cleer 
both  gave  a  start  of  sur- 
prise. The  man's  words  as- 
tonished them ;  for  never 
before,  during  fifteen  lono- 
years,  had  that  unhappy 
father  alluded  in  any  way  in 
overt  words  to  his  son's 
tragic  end.  He  had  brooded 
and  mused  over  it  in  his  crushed 
and  wounded  spirit ;  he  had  revis- 
ited the  scene  of  his  loss  whenever 
opportunity  permitted  him ;  he 
had  made  of  his  sorrow  ;i  cher- 
ished and  petted  daily  companion  ; 
but  he  had  stored  it  up  deep  in  his 
own  inmost  heart,  never  uttering 
a  word  of  it  even  to  his  wife  or 
daughter.  The  two  women  knew 
Michael  Trevennack  must  be  profoundly  moved, 
indeed,  so  to  tear  open  the  half-healed  wound 


^^  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

in    his    tortured    bosom     before    two    casual 
strangers. 

But  Tyrrel,  too,  gave  a  start  as  he  spoke,  and 
looked  hard  at  the  careworn  face  of  that  un- 
happy man.  "Then  you're  Mr.  Trevennack!" 
he  exclaimed,  all  aghast.  "  Mr.  Trevennack  of 
the  Admiralty !" 

And  the  dignified  stranger 
answered,  bowing  his  head 
very  low,  ''Yes,  you've  guessed 
me  right.  I'm  Michael  Tre- 
vennack." 

With  scarcely  a  word  of  re- 
ply Walter  Tyrrel  turned  and 
strode  away  from  the  spot. 
"  I  must  go  now,"  he  muttered 
faintly,  looking  at  his  watch  with  some  feigned 
surprise,  as  a  feeble  excuse.  "  I've  an  appoint- 
ment at  home."  He  hadn't  the  courage  to  stay. 
His  heart  misgave  him.  Once  fairly  round  the 
corner  he  fled  like  a  wounded  creature,  too 
deeply  hurt  even  to  cry.  Eustace  Le  Neve, 
raising  his  hat,  hastened  after  him,  all  mute 
wonder.    For  several  hundred  yards  they  walked 


FACE   TO  FACE. 


61 


on  side  by  side  across  the  open  heathy  moor. 

Then,   as   they   passed    the    first    wall,    Tyrrel 

paused  for  a  moment  and  spoke. 
''Not  a  murderer!"  he  cried  in 
his  anguish;  "oh,  no,  not  quite 
as  bad  as  a  murderer,  surely, 
Eustace;  but  still,  a  culpable 
homicide.  Oh,  God,  how  ter- 
rible." 

And  even  as  he  disappeared 

across   the  moor  to  eastward,  Trevennack,   far 

behind,  seized  his  wife's  arm  spasmodically,  and 

clutching    it   tight    in    his    iron 

grip,  murmured  low  in  a  voice 

of     supreme     conviction,     "Do 

you  see  what  that  means,  Lucy  ? 

I  can  read  it  all  now.      It  was 

he  who  rolled  down  that  cursed 

stone.       It   was   he   who   killed 

our  boy.     And  I  can  guess  who 

he   is.      He  must  be  Tyrrel  of 

Penmorgan." 
Cleer  didn't  hear  the  words.     She  was  below, 

gazing  after  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

tyrrel's  remorse. 


The  two  young  men  walked 
back,  without  interchanging 
another  word,  to  the  gate  of  the 
manor-house.  Tyrrel  opened  it 
with  a  swing.  Then,  once  with- 
in his  own  grounds,  and  free 
from  prying  eyes,  he  sat  down  forthwith  upon  a 
little  craggy  cliff  that  over- 
hung the  carriage-drive,  hur- 
ried his  face  in  his  hands,  and, 
to  Le  Neve's  intense  astonish- 
ment, cried  long  and  silently. 
He  let  himself  go  with  a  rush  ; 
that's  the  Cornish  nature. 
Eustace  Le  Neve  sat  by  his  side,  not  daring  to 
speak,  but  in  mute  sympathy  with  his  sorrow. 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE. 


63 


For  many  minutes  neither  uttered   a   sound. 

At  last  Tyrrel  looked   up,  and  in  an  agony  of 

^^  remorse,  turned  round  to  his 

SK  companion.     "Of  course  you 

.^^ma^  understand,"  he  said. 

And  Eustace  answered 
reverently,  "Yes,  I  think  I 
understand.  Having  come 
so  near  doing  the  same  thing 
myself,  I  sympathize  with 
you." 

Tyrrel  paused  a  moment 
His  face  was  like  marble.  Then  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  the  profoundest  anguish,  "Till 
this  minute,  Eustace,  I've  never  told  anybody. 
And  if  it  hadn't  been  forced 
out  of  me  by  that  poor  man's 
tortured  and  broken-hearted 
face,  I  wouldn't  have  told  you 
now.  But  could  I  look  at 
him  to-day  and  not  break 
down   before  him  ?  " 

"How  did  it  all  happen?"  Le  Neve  asked, 
leaning  forward  and  clasping  his  friend's  arm 
with  a  brotherly  gesture. 


agam. 


64 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Tyrrel  answered  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  Like  this. 

I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  all  at  last.     IVe 

bottled  it    up   too   long.     I'll 
tell  you  now,  Eustace. 

*'  Nearly  sixteen  years  ago 
I  was  staying  down  here  at 
Penmorgan  with  my  uncle. 
The  Trevennacks,  as  I  learned 
afterward,  were  in  lodgings 
at  Gunwalloe.  But,  so  far  as 
I  can  remember  at  present,  I 

never  even  saw  them.     To  the  best  of  my  belief 

I  never  set  eyes  on  Michael  Trevennack  himself 

before   this   very   morning.     If 

Vd  known  who  he  was,  you  may 

be  pretty  sure  Vd  have  cut  off 

my     right     hand     before      Fd 

allowed  myself  to  speak  to  him. 
**  Well,  one  day  that  year  I 

was  strolling  along  the  top  of 

the    cliff    by    Michael's    Crag, 

with  my  uncle  beside  me,  who 

owned  Penmorgan.     I  was  but 

a  boy  then,  and  I  walked  by  the  edge  more  than 


TYRREL'S   REMORSE. 


65 


once,  very  carelessly.     My  uncle  knew  the  cliffs, 

though,  and  how  dangerous  they  were ;  he  knew 

men  might  any  time  be  walking 
below,  digging  launces  in  the 
sand,  or  getting  lobworms  for 
their  lines,  or  hunting  serpentine 
to  polish,  or  looking  for  sea-bird's 
eggs  among  the  half-way  ledges. 
Time  after  time  he  called  out  to 
me,  *  Walter,  my  boy,  take  care ; 
don't  go  so  near  the  edge,  you'll 

tumble  over  presently.'     And  time  after  time  I 

answered  him  back,  like  a  boy 

that  I  was,  '  Oh,  I'm  all  right, 

uncle.     No  fear  about  me.     I 

can  take  care  of  myself.     These 

cliffs  don't  crumble.     They're  a 

deal,  too  solid.' 

"  At  last,  when  he  saw  it  was 

no  good  warning  me  that  way 

any  longer,  he  turned  round  to 

me  rather  sharply — he  was  a 

Tyrrel,  you  see,  and  conscientious,  as  we  all  of  us 

are — it  runs  in  the  blood  somehow — *  If  you  don't 


66 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


mind  for  yourself,  at  least  mind  for  others.  Who 
can  say  who  may  be  walking  underneath  those 
rocks?  If  you  let  a  loose  stone  fall 
you  may  commit  manslaughter.' 

"I  laughed,  and  thought  ill  of 
him.  He  was  such  a  fidget!  I 
was  only  a  boy.  I  considered  him 
absurdly  and  unnecessarily  par- 
ticular. He  had  stalked  on  a  yard 
or  two  in  front.  I  loitered  behind, 
and  out  of  pure  boyish  deviltry,  as 
I  was  just  above  Michael's  Crag,  I  loosened 
some  stones  with  my  foot  and  showered  them 
over  deliberately.  Oh,  heavens,  I  feel  it  yet; 
how  they  rattled  and  rumbled ! 
"My  uncle  wasn't  looking. 
He  walked  on  and  left  me  be- 
hind. He  didn't  see  me  push 
them.  He  didn't  see  them 
fall.  He  didn't  hear  them  rat- 
tle. But  as  they  reached  the 
bottom  I  heard  myself — or 
thought  I  heard  —  a  vague  cry  below.  A  cry  as 
of    some  one  wounded.     I  was  frightened  at 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE. 


67 


\ 


that ;  I  didn't  dare  to  look  down,  but  ran  on  to 
my  uncle.     Not  till  some  hours  after  did  I  know 

the  whole  truth,  for  we  walked 
along  the  cliffs  all  the  way  to 
Kynance,  and  then  returned  in- 
land by  the  road  to  the  Lizard. 
"That  afternoon,  late,  there 
was  commotion  at  Penmorgan. 
The  servants  brought  us  word 
how  a  bit  of  the  cliff  near 
Michael's  Crag  had  foundered 
unawares,  and  struck  two  people  who  were  walk- 
ing below — a  Mr.  Trevennack,  in  lodgings  at 
Gunwalloe,  and  his  boy  Michael.  The  father 
wasn't  much  hurt,  they  said; 
but  the  son  —  oh,  Eustace  !  the 
son  was  dangerously  wounded. 
...  I  listened  in  terror.  .  .  . 
He  lived  out  the  night,  and 
died  next  morning." 

Tyrrel  leaned  back  in  agony 
as  he  spoke,  and  looked  utterly 
crushed.     It  was  an  awful  memory.     Le  Neve 
hardly  knew  what  to  say,  the  man's  remorse  was 


68  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

SO  poignant.  After  all  those  years  the  boy's 
thoughtless  act  seemed  to  weigh  like  a  millstone 
round  the  grown  man's  neck.  Eustace  held 
his  peace,  and  felt  for  him.     By  and  by  Tyrrel 

went  on  again,  rocking  him- 
self to  and  fro  on  his  rough 
seat  as  he  spoke.  "  For  fif- 
teen years,"  he  said,  piteously, 
"  I've  borne  this  burden  in 
my  heart,  and  never  told  any- 
body. I  tell  it  now  first  of  all 
men  to  you.  You're  the  only  soul  on  earth  who 
shares  my  secret." 

"Then  your  uncle  didn't  suspect  it?"  Eustace 
asked,  all  breathless. 

Walter  Tyrrel  shook  his  head.  "  On  the  con- 
trary," he  answered,  "he  said  to  me  next  day, 
'  How  glad  I  am  Walter,  my  boy,  I  called  you 
away  from  the  cliff  that  moment !  It  was  quite 
providential.  For  if  you'd  loosened  a  stone,  and 
then  this  thing  had  happened,  we'd  both  of  us 
have  believed  it  vj2iS  you  that  did  it?'  I  was 
too  frightened  and  appalled  to  tell  him  it 
was  I.     I  thought  they'd  hang  me.     But  from 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE. 


69 


that  day  to  this — Eustace,  Eustace,  believe 
me — I've  never  ceased  to  think  of  it!  I've 
never  forgiven  myself ! " 

"Yet  it  was  an  accident  after  all,"  Le  Neve 
said,    trying    to    comfort    him. 

"  No,  no ;  not  quite.  I 
should  have  been  warned  in 
time.  I  should  have  obeyed 
my  uncle.  But  what  would 
you  have?  It's  the  luck  of 
the  Tyrrels." 

He    spoke    plaintively.       Le 
Neve    pulled   a   piece    of   grass 
and   began   bitting    it    to   hide 
his    confusion.     How    near    he 
might   have    come   to    doing    the    same    thing 
himself.     He   thanked    his    stars    it   wasn't    he. 
He  thanked  his  stars  he  hadn't  let  that  stone 
drop  from  the  cliff  that  morning. 

Tyrrel  was  the  first  to  break  the  solemn 
silence.  "You  can  understand  now,"  he  said, 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  "why  I  hate  Pen- 
morgan.  I've  hated  it  ever  since.  I  shall 
always  hate  it.     It  seems  like  a  mute  reminder 


70 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


of    that    awful    day.     In    my    uncle's    time    I 
never  came   near   it.     But   as   soon   as   it  was 

my  own  I  felt  I  must  live 
upon  it ;  and  now,  this  terror 
of  meeting  Trevennack  some 
day  has  made  life  one  long 
burden  to  me.  Sooner  or 
later  I  felt  sure  I  should 
run  against  him.  They  told 
me  how  he  came  down  here 
from  time  to  time  to  see  where  his  son  died, 
and  I  knew  I  should  meet  him.  Now  you  can 
understand,  too,  why  I  hate  the  top  of  the  clififs 
so  much,  and  will  walk  at  the  bottom.  I  had 
two  good  reasons  for  that.  One  I've  told  you 
already;  the  other  was  the 
fear  of  coming  across  Treven- 
nack." 

Le  Neve  turned  to  him 
compassionately.  "  My  dear 
fellow,"  he  said,  "you  take  it 
too  much  to  heart.  It  was  so 
long  ago,  and  you  were  only  a  child.  The  .  .  . 
the  accident  might  happen  to  any  boy  any  day." 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE. 


71 


"Yes,   yes,"   Tyrrel    answered,    passionately. 
"  I  know  all  that.     I  try,  so,  to  console  myself. 

H0^^  But   then    IVe   wrecked    that 

■Jr    ^^   unhappy  man's  life  for  him." 

*'  He  has  his  daughter  still," 
Le  Neve  put  in,  vaguely.  It 
was  all  he  could  think  of  to  say 
by  way  of  consolation  ;  and  to 
him,  Cleer  IVevennack  would 
have  made  up  for  anything. 
A  strange  shade  passed  over 
TyrrePs  face.  Eustace  noted  it  instinctively. 
Something  within  seemed  to 
move  that  Cornish  heart. 
"Yes,  he  has  his  daughter 
still,"  the  Squire  of  Penmor- 
gan  answered,  with  a  vacant 
air.  "But  for  me,  that  only 
makes  things  still  worse  than 
before.  ...  How  can  she 
pardon  my  act?  What  can 
she   ever  think   of   me?" 

Le    Neve   turned   sharply   round   upon   him. 
There  was  some  undercurrent   in    the   tone   in 


72 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


which  he  spoke  that  suggested  far  more  than  the 
mere  words  themselves  might  perhaps  have  con- 
veyed to  him.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked, 
all  eager,  in  a  quick,  low  voice.  "You've  met 
Miss  Trevennack  before?  You've  seen  her? 
You've  spoken  to  her  ?  " 

For  a  second  Tyrrel  hesitated;  then,  with  a 
burst,  he  spoke  out.  '*  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  all,"  he  cried,  "now 
I've  told  you  so  much.  Yes, 
I've  met  her  before,  I've  seen 
her,  I've  spoken  to  her." 

"But  she  didn't  seem  to  recog- 
nize you,"  Le  Neve  objected, 
taken  aback. 

Tyrrel  shook  his  head  de- 
spondently. "That's  the  worst  of  it  all,"  he 
answered,  with  a  very  sad  sigh.  "She  didn't 
even  remember  me.  .  .  .  She  was  so  much  to 
me;  and  to  her — why,  to  her,  Eustace — I  was 
less  than  nothing." 

"  And  you  knew  who  she  was  when  you  saw 

her  just  now?"  Le  Neve  asked,  greatly  puzzled. 

"  Yes  and  no.     Not  exactly.     I  knew  she  was 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE.  73 

the  person  Vd  seen  and  talked  with,  but  Pd 
never  heard  her  name,  nor  connected  her  in  any 
way  with  Michael  Trevennack.  If  I  had,  things 
would  be  different.  It's  a  terrible  Nemesis.  HI 
tell  you  how  it  happened.  I  may  as  well  tell  all. 
But  the  worst  point  of  the  whole  to  me  in  this 
crushing  blow  is  to  learn  that 
that  girl  is  Michael  Treven- 
nack's  daughter." 

"Where  and  when  did  you 
meet  her  then.?"  Le  Neve 
asked,  growing  curious. 

"Quite  casually,  once   only, 
some  time  since,  in   a  railway 
carriage.    It  must  be  two  years 
ago  now,  and  I  was  going  from 
Bath   to   Bournemouth.     She  travd^d  with  me 
in    the   same   compartment  as  far   as   Temple 
Combe,  and  I  talked  all  the  way  with  her;  I  can 
remember  every  word  of  it.    .    .   .    Eustace,  it's 
foolish  of  me  to  acknowledge  it,  perhaps,  but  in 
those  two  short  hours  I  fell  madly  in  love  with 
her.     Her  face  has  lived  with   me  ever  since; 
I've  longed  to  meet  her.     But  I  was  stupidly 


74  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

afraid  to  ask  her  name  before  she  got  out  of  the 

train ;  and  I  had  no  clue  at  all  to  her  home  or 
her  relations.  Yet,  a  thousand 
times  since  I've  said  to  myself,  'If 
ever  I  marry  Fll  marry  that  girl 
who  went  in  the  carriage  from  Bath 
to  Temple  Combe  with  me.'  I've 
cherished  her  memory  from  that 
day  to  this.  You  mayn't  believe,  I 
dare  say,  in  love  at  first  sight ;  but 
this   I    can    swear    to   you   was   a 

genuine  case  of  it." 

"  I    can   believe   in    it   very  well,"    Le    Neve 

answered,  most  truthfully,  "now  I've  seen  Miss 

Trevennack." 

Tyrrel    looked    at    him,   and    smiled    sadly. 

"Well,  when  I  saw  her  again 

this  morning,"  he  went  on,  after 

a  short  pause,  **  my  heart  came 

up  into  my  mouth.     I  said  to 

myself,  with  a  bound,  '  It's  she ! 

It's   she!     At  last   I've   found 

her.'     And   it   dashed   my  best   hopes    to    the 

ground  at  once  to  see  she  didn't  even  remember 

having  met  me." 


TYRREL'S  REMORSE. 


75 


Le  Neve  looked  at  him  shyly.     *'  Walter,"  he 
said,  after  a  short  struggle,  "  I'm  not  surprised 

you  fell  in  love  with  her.  And 
shall  I  tell  you  why?  I  fell  in 
love  with  her  myself,  too,  the 
moment  I  saw  her." 

Tyrrel  turned  to  him  without 
one  word  of  reproach.  "Well, 
we're  no  rivals  now,"  he  an- 
swered, generously.  "Even  if  she 
would  have  me  —  even  if  she 
loved  me  well— -how  could  I  ask 
her   to   take  —  her   brother's   murderer?" 

Le  Neve  drew  a  long  breath. 
He   hadn't  thought  of  that  be- 
fore.    But   had   it   been    other 
wise,   he    couldn't    help   feeling 
that    the    master    of     Penmor- 
gan  would  have  been  a  formida- 
ble rival  for  a  penniless  engineer 
just  home  from  South  America. 
For  already  Eustace  Le  Neve 
was  dimly  aware,  in  his  own  san- 
guine mind,  that  he  meant  to  woo  and  win  that 
beautiful  Cleer  Trevennack. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  STRANGE  DELUSION. 

Trevennack  and  his  wife  sat  alone  that  night 
in  their  bare  rooms  at  Gunwalloe.  Cleer  had 
gone  out  to  see  some  girls  of  her  acquaintance 

who  were  lodging  close  by  in 
a  fisherman's  house ;  and  the 
husband  and  wife  were  left  for 
a  few  hours  by  themselves  to- 
^^  ether. 

"Michael,"  Mrs.  Trevennack 
began,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone,  rising  up  from  her 
chair  and  coming  over  toward 
him  tenderly,  "I  was  horribly  afraid  you  were 
going  to  break  out  before  those  two  young 
men  on  the  cliff  to-day.  I  saw  you  were  just 
on  the  very  brink  of  it.  But  you  resisted 
bravely.       Thank     you     so     much     for     that. 

(76) 


A  STRANGE  DELUSION.  77 

You're  a  dear  good  fellow.     I  was  so   pleased 
with  you  and  so  proud  of  you." 

'*  Break  out  about  our  poor 
boy?"  Trevennack  asked,  with 
a  dreamy  air,  passing  his 
bronzed  hand  wearily  across 
his  high  white  forehead. 

His  wife  seated  herself  side- 
ways upon  the  arm  of  his 
chair,  and  bent  over  him  as 
he  sat,  with  wifely  confidence. 
"No,  no,  dear,"  she  said,  tak- 
ing his  hand  in  hers  and  soothing  it  with  her  soft 
palm.  "About — you  know  — well,  of  course, 
that  other  thing." 

At  the  mere  hint,  Treven- 
nack leaned  back  and  drew 
himself  up  proudly  to  his  full 
height,   like   a   soldier.      He 
looked    majestic    as    he    sat 
there  —  every     inch     a     St. 
Michael,      -Well,   it's    hard 
to  keep  such  a  secret,"  he  answered,  laying  his 
free  hand  on  his  breast,  -hard  to  keep  such  a 


78 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


a  secret;  and  I  own,  when  they  were  talking 
about  it,  I  longed  to  tell  them.     But  for  Cleer's 

sake  I  refrained,  Lucy.  For 
Cleer's  sake  I  always  refrain. 
You're  quite  right  about  that. 
I  know,  of  course,  for  Cleer's 
sake  I  must  keep  it  locked  up 
in  my  own  heart  forever." 

The  silver-haired  lady  bent 
over  him  again,  both  caress- 
ingly and  proudly.  "  Michael, 
dear  Michael,"  she  said,  with 
a  soft  thrill  in  her  voice,  "  I  love  you 
and  honor  you  for  it.  I  cdiW  feel  what 
it  costs  you.  My  darling,  I  know 
how  hard  you  have  to  fight  against 
it.  I  could  see  you  fighting  against 
it  to-day ;  and  I  was  proud  of  the  way 
you  struggled  with  it,  single-handed, 
till  you  gained  the  victory." 

Trevennack  drew  himself  up  still 
more  haughtily  than  before.  "And 
who  should  struggle  against  the  devil,"  he  said, 
"single-handed  as  you  say,  and  gain  the  victory 
at  last,  if  not  I,  myself,  Lucy  ? " 


A  STRANGE  DELUSION.  79 

He   said   it   like  some  great  one.     His  wife 
soothed  his  hand  again  and  repressed  a  sigh. 
She  was  a  great-hearted  lady,  that  brave  wife 
and  mother,  who  bore  her  own  trouble  without  a 
word  spoken  to  anyone ;  but  she  must  sigh,  at 
least,   sometimes;   it  was  such  a  relief  to  her 
pent-up  feelings.     "  Who  indeed  ?  " 
she  said,   acquiescent.     "Who   in- 
deed, if  not  you  ?     And  I  love  you 
best  when  you  conquer  so,  Michael." 
Trevennack  looked   down  upon 
her  with  a  strange  tender  look  on 
his  face,   in  which  gentleness  and 
condescension  were  curiously  min- 
gled.   "  Yes,"  he  answered,  musing  ; 
"for  dear  Cleer's  sake  I  will  always 
keep  my  peace  about  it.     Til   say  not  a  word. 
I'll  never  tell  anybody.      And  yet  it's  hard  to 
keep  it  in  ;  very  hard,  indeed.     I  have  to  bind 
myself  round,   as  it  were,  with   bonds  of  iron. 
The  secret  will  almost  out  of  itself  at  times.    As 
this  morning,    for  example,    when   that   young 
fellow  wanted  to  know  why  St.  Michael  always 
clung  to  such  airy  pinnacles.     How  jauntily  he 


80 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


talked  about  it,  as  if  the  reason  for  the  selection 
were  a  matter  of  no  moment !  How  little  he 
seemed  to  think  of  the  Prince  of 
the  Archangels ! " 

"But  for  Cleer's  sake,  darling, 
you  kept  it  in,"  Mrs.  Trevennack 
said,  coaxingly  ;  "  and  for  Cleer's 
sake  you'll  keep  it  in  still  —  I  know 
you  will ;  now  won't  you  ?" 

Trevennack  looked  the  picture 
of  embodied  self-restraint.  His 
back  was  rigid.  "  For  Cleer's  sake 
I'll  keep  it  in,"  he  said,  firmly. 
"  I  know  how  important  it  is 
for  her.  Never  in  this  world 
have  I  breathed  a  word  of  it  to 
any  living  soul  but  you ;  and 
never  in  this  world  I  will. 
The  rest  wouldn't  understand. 
They'd  say  it  was  madness." 

"They  would,"  his  wife  as- 
sented very  gravely  and  ear- 
nestly.   "And  that  would  be  so  bad  for  Cleer's 
future  prospects.     People  would  think  you  were 


A  STRANGE  DELUSION.  81 

out  of  your  mind ;  and  you  know  how  chary  young 
men  are  nowadays  of  marrying  a  girl  when  they 
beheve  or  even  suspect  there's  insanity  in  the 
family.  You  can  talk  of  it  as  much  and  as 
often  as  you  like  to  me,  dear  Michael.  I  think 
that  does  you  good.  It  acts  as  a  safety-valve. 
It  keeps  you   from   bottling 

your  secret  up  in  your  own 

heart  too  long,  and  brooding 

over  it,   and  worrying  your- 
self.    I  like  you  to  talk  to 

me  of  it  whenever  you  feel 

inclined.      But   for  heaven's 

sake,  darling,  to  nobody  else. 

Not  a  hint  of  it  for  worlds. 

The  consequences  might  be 

terrible." 

Trevennack  rose  and  stood  at  his  full  height 
with  his  heels  on  the  edge  of  the  low  cottage 
fender.  "You  can  trust  me,  Lucy,"  he  said,  in  a 
very  soft  tone,  with  grave  and  conscious  dignity. 
''You  can  trust  me  to  hold  my  tongue.  I  know 
how  much  depends  upon  it." 

The  beautiful  lady  with  the  silvery  hair  sat 

0 


82  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

and  gazed  on  him  admiringly.     She  knew  she 

could  trust  him  ;  she  knew  he  would  keep  it  in. 
But  she  knew  at  the  same  time  how 
desperate  a  struggle  the  effort  cost 
him ;  and  visionary  though  he  was, 
she  loved  and  admired  him  for  it. 

There  was  an  eloquent  silence. 
Then,  after  a  while,  Trevennack 
spoke  again,  more  tenderly  and 
regretfully.  "  That  man  did  it !  "  he 
said,  with  slow  emphasis.  "  I  saw  by 
his  face  at  once  he  did  it.     He  killed 

our  poor  boy.    I  could  read  it  in  his 

look.     I'm  sure   it  was  he.     And 

besides,  I  have  news  of  it,  certain 

news  —  from    elsewhere,"    and    he 

looked  up  significantly. 

**  Michael ! "      Mrs.     Trevennack 

said,  drawing  close  to  him  with  an 

appealing  gesture,  and  gazing  hard 

into  his  eyes;  "  its  a  long  time  since. 

He  was  a  boy  at  the  time.     He  did 

it  carelessly,  no  doubt ;  but  not  guiltily,  culpably. 

For  Cleer's  sake,  there,  too  —  oh,  forgive  him, 


A  STRANGE  DELUSION. 


83 


forgive  him!"   She  clasped  her  hands  tight ;  she 

looked  up  at  him  tearfully. 

"It  was  the  devil's  work,"  her 
husband  answered,  with  a  faint 
frown  on  his  high  forehead,  "  and 
my  task  in  life,  Lucy,  is  to  fight 
down  the  devil." 

"  Fight  him  down  in  your  own 
heart,  then,  dear,"  Mrs.  Trevennack 
said,  gently.  "Remember,  we  all 
may  fall.  Lucifer  did  —  and  he 
was  once  an  archangel.    P'^ight  him 

down  in  your  own  heart  when  he 

suggests  hateful  thoughts  to  you. 

For  I  know  what  you  felt  when 

it   came   over    you    instinctively 

that  that  young  man  had  done 

it.     You  wanted  to  fly  straight 

at   his   throat,    dear    Michael  — 

you  wanted  to  fly  at  his  throat, 

and  fling  him  over  the  precipice." 
"  I  did,"  Trevennack  answered, 

making  no  pretense  of  denial.     "But  for  Cleer's 

sake  I  refrained.     And  for  Cleer's  sake,  if  you 

wish  it,  I'll  try  to  forgive  him." 


84 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


Mrs.    Trevennack   pressed    his   hand.     Tears 
stood  in  her  dim  eyes.     She,  too,  had  a  terrible 

battle  to  fight  all  the  days  of 
her  life,  and  she  fought  it 
valiantly.  "  Michael,"  she 
said,  with  an  effort,  "try  to 
avoid  that  young  man.  Try 
to  avoid  him,  I  implore  you. 
Don't  go  near  him  in  the 
future.  If  you  see  him  too 
often,  I'm  afraid  what  the 
result  for  you  both  may  be. 
You  control  yourself  wonder- 
fully, dear ;  you  control  your- 
self, I  know  ;  and  I'm  grateful 
to  you  for  it.  But  if  you  see 
too  much  of  him,  I  dread  an 
outbreak.  It  may  get  the  bet- 
ter of  you.  And  then  —  think 
of  Cleer !  Avoid  him !  Avoid 
him  ! " 

For   only   that    silver-headed 
woman  of  all  people  on  earth  knew  the  terrible 
truth,  that  Michael  Trevennack's  was  a  hopeless 


A  STRANGE  DELUSION. 


85 


case  of  suppressed  insanity.     Well  suppressed, 
indeed,  and  kept  firmly  in  check  for  his  daughter's 
sake,  and  by  his  brave  wife's  aid  ;  but  insanity, 
none  the  less,  of  the  profoundest  monomaniacal 
pattern,  for  all  that.     All  day  long,  and  every 
day,  in  his  dealings  with  the  outer  world,  he  kept 
down    his  monomania.     An   able 
and  trusted  government  servant, 
he    never     allowed     it     for    one 
moment  to  interfere  with  his  pub- 
lic duties.     To  his  wife  alone  he 
let  out  what  he  thought  the  in- 
most and  deepest  secret  of  his  real 
existence  —  that  he  was  the  Arch- 
angel Michael.     To  no  one  else  did  he  ever  allow 
a    glimpse   of   the   truth,  as    he  thought  it,  to 
appear.     He  knew  the  world  would  call  it  mad- 
ness ;  and  he  didn't  wish  the  stigma  of  inherited 
insanity  to  cling  to  his  Cleer. 

Not  even  Cleer  herself  for  a  moment  sus- 
pected it. 

Trevennack  was  wise  enough  and  cunning 
enough,  as  madmen  often  are,  to  keep  his  own 
counsel,  for  good  and  sufficient  reason. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


PURE    ACCIDENT. 

During  the  next  week  or  so,  as  chance  would 
have  it,  Cleer  Trevennack  fell  in  more  than 
once  on  her  walks  with  Eustace  Le  Neve  and 

Walter  Tyrrel.  They  had  picked 
V — A]  up  acquaintance  in  an  irregular 
/  i^lL,  way,  to  be  sure  ;  but  Cleer  hadn't 
^  happened  to  be  close  by  when 
iier  father  uttered  those  strange 
words  to  his  wife,  "  It  was  he 
who  did  it ;  it  was  he  who  killed 
our  boy";  nor  did  she  notice  par- 
ticularly the  marked  abruptness 
of  Tyrrel's  departure  on  that  unfortunate  occa- 
sion. So  she  had  no  such  objection  to  meeting 
the  two  young  men  as  Trevennack  himself  not 
unnaturally  displayed ;  she  regarded  his  evident 
avoidance  of  Walter  Tyrrel  as  merely  one  of 

(88) 


PURE  ACCIDENT.  87 

"Papa's    fancies."     To    Cleer,     Papa's    fancies 
were  mysterious  but  very  familiar  entities ;  and 

Tyrrel  and  Le  Neve  were 
X^  simply  two  interesting  and 
^R  intelligent  young  men  —  the 
^K  squire  of  the  village  and  a 
fl^  friend  on  a  visit  to  him.  In- 
/^B  deed,  to  be  quite  confidential, 
it  was  the  visitor  who  occu- 
pied the  larger  share  of  Cleer's  attention.  He 
was  so  good-looking  and  so  nice.  His  open 
face  and  pink  and  white  complexion  had  at- 
tracted her  fancy  from  the  very  first; 
and  the  more  she  saw  of  him  the  more 
she  liked  him. 

They  met  often  —  quite  by  accident, 
of  course  —  on  the  moor  and  else- 
where. Tyrrel,  for  his  part,  shrank 
somewhat  timidly  from  the  sister  of  the 
boy,  for  his  share  in  whose  death  he  so 
bitterly  reproached  himself;  yet  he 
couldn't  quite  drag  himself  off  when- 
ever he  found  himself  in  Cleer's  presence.  She 
bound  him  as  by  a  spell.     He  was  profoundly 


88* 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


attracted  to  her.  There  was  something  about 
the  pretty  Cornish  girl  so  frank,  so  confiding,  in 
one  word,  so  magnetic,  that  when  once  he  came 
near  her  he  couldn't  tear  himself  away  as  he  felt 
he  ought  to.  Yet  he  could  see  very  well,  none 
the  less,  it  was  for  Eustace  Le  Neve  that  she 
watched  most  eagerly,  with  the  natural  interest 

of  a  budding  girl  in  the  man 
who  takes  her  pure  maiden 
fancy.  Tyrrcl  allowed  with  a 
sigh  that  this  was  well  indeed; 
for  how  could  he  ever  dream, 
now  he  knew  who  she  was,  of 
marrying  young  Michael  Tre- 
vennack's  sister  ? 

One  afternoon  the  two 
friends  were  returning  from  a  long  ramble  across 
the  open  moor,  when,  near  a  little  knoll  of  bare 
and  weathered  rock  that  rose  from  a  circling 
belt  of  Cornish  heath,  they  saw  Cleer  by  herself, 
propped  against  the  huge  boulders,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  intently  on  a  paper-covered  novel. 
She  looked  up  and  smiled  as  they  approached ; 
and  the  young  men,  turning  aside  from  their  ill- 


PURE  ACCIDENT. 


89 


marked   path,    came   over  and   stood    by    her. 
They  talked  for  awhile  about  the  ordinary  noth- 
ings of  society  small-talk,  till 
by  degrees  Cleer  chanced  ac- 
cidentally  to   bring   the   con- 
versation round  to  something 
that    had    happened    to    her 
mother  and  herself  a  year  or 
two  since  in  Malta.     Le  Neve 
snatched  at  the  word ;  for  he 
was    eager    to    learn    all   he 
could  about  the  Trevennacks' 
movements,    so   deeply    had   Cleer  already  im- 
pressed her  image  on  his  suscept- 
ible nature. 

"And  when  do  you  go  back 
there?"  he  asked,  somewhat  anx- 
iously. "  I  suppose  your  father  s 
leave  is  for  a  week  or  two  only." 

"Oh,    dear,    no;    we   don't   go 
back  at  all,  thank  heaven,"  Cleer 
answered,  with  a  sunny  smile.    "  I 
can't  bear  exile,  Mr.  Le  Neve,  and  I  never  cared 
one  bit  for  living  in  Malta.     But  this  year,  fort- 


90 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


unately,  papa's  going  to  be  transferred  for  a 
permanence  to  England ;  he's  to  have  charge  of 
a  department  that  has  something  or  other  to  do 
with  provisioning  the  Channel  Squadron ;  I 
don't  quite  understand  what;  but  anyhow,  he'll 
have  to  be  running  about  between  Portsmouth 
and   Plymouth,  and   I    don't  know  where  else; 

and  mamma  and  I  will  have  to 
take  a  house  for  ourselves  in 
London." 

Le    Neve's    face    showed    his 

pleasure.        "That's    well,"    he 

answered,  briskly.     "  Then  you 

--vf|^^«    I    won't   be   quite    lost!     I   mean, 

xJ4l/^^^^     there'll  be  some  chance  at  least 

when  you  go  away    from    here 
of  one's  seeing  you  sometimes." 

A  bright  red  spot  rose  deep  on  Cleer's  cheek 
through  the  dark  olive-brown  skin.  "  How  kind 
of  you  to  say  so,"  she  answered,  looking  down. 
"  I'm  sure  mamma'll  be  very  pleased,  indeed,  if 
you'll  take  the  trouble  to  call."  Then,  to  hide 
her  confusion,  she  went  on  hastily,  "And  are  you 
going   to   be    in    England,   too?     I    thought    I 


PURE  ACCIDENT.  91 

understood  the  other  day  from  your  friend  you 
had  something  to  do  with  a  railway  in  South 
^  America." 

"Oh,  that's  all  over  now,"  Le 
Neve    answered,    with    a    wave, 
well  pleased  she  should  ask   him 
about    his    whereabouts    so    cor- 
dially.     "  I  was  only  employed  in 
the  construction  of  the  line,  you 
know;    IVe  nothing  at  all  to  do 
with    its   maintenance   and  work- 
ing, and  now  the  track's  laid,  my 
worK    there's   finished.       But   as   to 
stopping   in    England,— ah -that's 
quite  another  thing.     An  engineer's, 
you    know,   is  a   roving   life.     He's 
here   to-day    and    there   to-morrow. 
I    must    go,     I    suppose,    wherever 
work  may  take  me.     And  there  isn't 
much  stirring  in   the   markets  just 
now  in  the  way  of  engineering." 

"  I  hope  you'll  get  something  at '  ^    -^ 

home,"  Cleer  said,  simply,  with  a  blush,  and  then 
blamed  herself  for  saying  it.     She  blushed  again 


93  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

at  the  thought.  She  looked  prettiest  when  she 
blushed.  Walter  Tyrrel,  a  little  behind,  stood 
and  admired  her  all  the  while.  But  Eustace 
was  flattered  she  should  think  of  wanting  him  to 
remain  in  England. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  somewhat  timidly,  for 

her  bashfulness  made  him  a 
trifle  bashful  in  return.  "  I 
should  like  to  very  much  — 
for  more  reasons  than  one ; " 
and  he  looked  at  her  mean- 
ingly. "  I'm  getting  tired,  in 
some  ways,  of  life  abroad. 
I'd  much  prefer  to  come  back 
now  and  settle  down  in  Eng- 
land." 

Cleer  rose  as  he  spoke.  His  frank  admiration 
made  her  feel  self-conscious.  She  thought  this 
conversation  had  gone  quite  far  enough  for 
them  both  for  the  present.  After  all,  she  knew 
so  little  of  him,  though  he  was  really  very  nice, 
and  he  looked  at  her  so  kindly !  But  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  go  and  hunt  up  papa.  "I 
think  I  ought  to  be  moving  now,"  she  said,  with 


PURE  ACCIDENT.  93 

a  delicious    little    flush   on   her  smooth,   dark 

cheek.     -  My  father'll  be  waiting  for  me."     And 

she  set  her  face  across  the  moor  in 

the  opposite  direction  from  the  gate 

of  Penmorgan. 

"  We  may  come  with  you,  mayn't 
we?"  Eustace  asked,  with  just  an 
undertone  of  wistfulness. 

But     Tyrrel     darted     a    warning 
glance      at     him.        He,     at     least, 
mj^  ,_  couldn't  go  to  confront   once   more 
KS^  that  poor  dead  boy's  father. 
"I    must    hurry   home,"   he 
said,     feebly,     consulting     his 
watch  with  an  abstracted   air. 
"It's  getting  so  late.  But  don't 
let  me  prevent  you  from  accom- 
panying Miss  Trevennack." 

Cleer  shrank  away,  a  little 
alarmed.  She  wasn't  quite 
sure  whether  it  would  be  per- 
fectly right  for  her  to  walk 
about  alone  on  the  moorland  with  only  one 
young  man,  though  she  wouldn't  have  minded 


94  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

the  two,  for  there  is  safety  in  numbers.  "Oh, 
no,"  she  said,  half  frightened,  in  that  composite 
tone  which  is  at  once  an  entreaty  and  a  positive 
command.  "  Don't  mind  me,  Mr.  Le  Neve. 
I'm  quite  accustomed  to  strolling  by  myself 
round  the  cliff.  I  wouldn't  make  you  miss  your 
dinner  for  worlds.     And  besides,  papa's  not  far 

off.       He  went  away  from   me, 
rambling." 

The  two  young  men,  accepting 
their  dismissal  in  the  sense  in 
which  it  was  intended,  saluted 
her  deferentially,  and  turned 
away  on  their  own  road.  But 
Cleer  took  the  path  to  Michael's 
Crag,  by  the  gully. 

From  the  foot  of  the  crag  you  can't  see  the 
summit.  Its  own  shoulders  and  the  loose  rocks 
of  the  foreground  hide  it.  But  Cleer  was  pretty 
certain  her  father  must  be  there;  for  he  was 
mostly  to  be  found,  when  tide  permitted  it, 
perched  up  on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  his  name- 
sake skerry,  looking  out  upon  the  waters  with  a 
pre-occupied  glance  from  that  airy  citadel.     The 


PURE  ACCIDENT.  95 

waves  in  the  narrow  channel  that  separate  the 
crag  from  the  opposite  mainland  were  running 
high  and  boisterous,  but  Cleer  had  a  sure  foot, 
and  could  leap,  light  as  a  gazelle,  from  rock  to 
rock.    Not  for  nothing  was  she  Michael  Treven- 
nack's  daughter,  well  trained  from  her  babyhood 
to  high  and  airy  climbs.     She    chose    an    easy 
spot   where   it   was  possible   to 
spring    across    by    a   series    of 
boulders,   arranged  accidentally 
like   stepping-stones;    and    in   a 
minute  she  was  standing  on  the 
main  crag  itself,  a  huge  beetling 
mass     of     detached    serpentine 
pushed   boldly   out   as   the    ad- 
vance-guard of  the  land  into  the  assailing  waves, 
and  tapering  at  its  top  into  a  pyramidal  steeple. 
The  face  of  the  crag  was  wet  with  spray  in 
places ;  but  Cleer  didn't  mind  spray ;  she  was 
accustomed  to  the  sea  in  all  its  moods  and  tem- 
pers.     She   clambered   up   the  steep   side a 

sheer  wall  of  bare  rock,  lightly  clad  here  and 
there  with  sparse  drapery  of  green  samphire,  or 
clumps  of  purple  sea-aster,  rooted  firm  in  the 


96 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


crannies.       Its    front    was    yellow    with    great 
patches  of  lichen,  and  on  the  peaks,  overhead, 

the  gulls  perched,  chattering, 
or  launched  themselves  in  long 
curves  upon  the  evening  air. 
Cleer  paused  half  way  up  to 
draw  breath  and  admire  the 
familiar  scene.  Often  as  she 
had  gone  there  before,  she 
could  never  help  gazing  with 
enchanted  eyes  on  those  brill- 
iantly colored  pinnacles,  on  that  deep  green  sea, 
on  those  angry  white  breakers 
that  dashed  in  ceaseless  as- 
sault against  the  solid  black 
wall  of  rock  all  round  her. 
Then  she  started  once  more 
on  her  climb  up  the  uncertain 
path,  a  mere  foothold  in  the 
crannies,  clinging  close  with 
her  tiny  hands  as  she  went 
to  every  jutting  corner  or 
weather-worn  rock,  and  every  woody  stem  of 
weather-beaten  sea  plants. 


PURE  ACCIDENT. 


97 


At  last,   panting  and   hot,   she   reached   the 
sharp  top,  expecting  to  find  Trevennack  at  his 
"^  accustomed  post  on  the  very  tallest 

pinnacle  of  the  craggy  little  islet. 
But,  to  her  immense  surprise,  her 
father  wasn't  there.     His  absence 
disquieted   her.      Cleer   stood   up 
on   the   fissured   mass   of   orange- 
lichened   rock   that    crowned    the 
very     summit,    dispossessing     the 
gulls  who  flapped  round  her  as  she 
mounted  it;    then,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  she  looked  down  in  every  direction  to  see 
if  she  could  descry  that  missing  figure  in  some 
nook  of  the  crag.     He  was 
nowhere  visible.  "Father!*' 
she  cried  aloud,  at  the  top 
of    her    voice;     "father! 
father!    father!"      But   the 
only  answer  to  her  cry  was 
the  sound  of  the  sea  on  the 
base,  and  the  loud  noise  of 
the  gulls,  as  they  screamed  and  fluttered  in  angry 
surprise  over  their  accustomed  breeding-grounds. 


98  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

Alarmed  and  irresolute,  Cleer  sat  down  on 
the  rock,  and  facing  landwards  for  awhile, 
waved  her  handkerchief  to  and  fro  to  attract,  if 
possible,  her  father's  attention.  Then  she 
scanned  the  opposite  cliffs,  beyond  the  gap  or 
chasm  that  separated  her  from  the  mainland  ; 

but  she  could  nowhere  see  him. 
He  must  have  forgotten  her  and 
gone  home  to  dinner  alone,  she 
fancied  now,  for  it  was  nearly 
seven  o'clock.  Nothing  re- 
mained but  to  climb  down  again 
and  follow  him.  It  was  getting 
full  late  to  be  out  by  herself  on 
the  island.  And  tide  was  com- 
ing in,  and  the  surf  was  getting 
strong  —  Atlantic  swell  from  the  gale  at  sea 
yesterday. 

Painfully  and  toilsomely  she  clambered  down 
the  steep  path,  making  her  foothold  good,  step 
by  step,  in  the  slippery  crannies,  rendered  still 
more  dangerous  in  places  by  the  sticky  spray 
and  the  brine  that  dashed  over  them  from  the 
seething  channel.     It  was  harder  coming  down, 


^ 


PURE  ACCIDENT. 


99 


a  good  deal,  than  going  up,  and  she  was  accus- 
tomed to  her  father's  hand  to  guide  her  —  to  fit 
her  light  foot  on  the  little  ledges 
by  the  way,  or  to  lift  her  down 
over  the  steepest  bits  with  unfail- 
ing tenderness.  So  she  found  it 
rather  difficult  to  descend  by  her- 
self—  both  difficult  and  tedious. 
At  last,  however,  after  one  or  two 
nasty  slips,  and  a  false  step  or  so  on 
the  way  that  ended  in  her  grazing 
'the  tender  skin  on  those  white  little 
fingers,  Cleer  reached  the  base  of  the  crag,  and 
stood  face  to  face  with  the 
final  problem  of  crossing  the 
chasm  that  divided  the  islet 
from  the  opposite  mainland. 

Then  for  the  first  time  the 
truth  was  borne  in  upon  her 
with  a  sudden  rush  that  she 
couldn't  get  back  —  she  was 
imprisoned  on  the  island.  She 
had  crossed  over  at  almost  the  last  moment  pos- 
sible.    The  sea  now  quite  covered  two  or  three 


100  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

of  her  stepping-stones ;  fierce  surf  broke  over 
the  rest  with  each  advancing  billow,  and  ren- 
dered the  task  of  jumping  from  one  to  the  other 
impracticable  even  for  a  strong  and  sure-footed 
man,  far  more  for  a  slight  girl  of  Cleer's  height 
and  figure. 

In  a  moment  the  little  prisoner  took  in  the 

full  horror  of  the  situation.  It 
was  now  about  half  tide,  and 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
High  water  would  therefore 
fall  between  ten  and  eleven  ; 
and  it  must  be  nearly  two  in 
the  morning,  she  calculated 
7^  hastil}',    before    the    sea    had 

gone  down  enough  to  let  her  cross  over  in 
safety.  Even  then,  in  the  dark,  she  dared 
hardly  face  those  treacherous  stepping-stones. 
She  must  stop  there  till  day  broke,  if  she  meant 
to  get  ashore  again  without  unnecessary  hazard. 
Cleer  was  a  Trevennack,  and  therefore  brave ; 
but  the  notion  of  stopping  alone  on  that  deso- 
late island,  thronged  with  gulls  and  cormorants, 
in  the  open  air,  through  all  those   long   dark 


PURE  ACCIDENT. 


101 


hours  till  morning  dawned,  fairly  frightened  and 
appalled  her.  For  a  minute  or  two  she  crouched 
and  cowered  in  silence.  Then,  overcome  by  ter- 
ror, she  climbed  up  once  more  to  the  first  plat- 
form of  rock,  above  the  reach  of  the  spray,  and 
shouted  with  all  her  might,  "Father!  father! 
father ! " 

But  'tis  a  lonely  coast,  that 
wild    stretch   by   the    Lizard. 
Not   a   soul   was  within   ear- 
shot.    Cleer  sat  there  still,  or 
stood  on  top  of  the  crag,  for 
many  minutes  together,  shout- 
ing and  waving  her  handker- 
chief for  dear  life  itself ;   but 
not   a   soul    heard   her.     She 
might  have  died  there  unnoticed;  not  a  creat- 
ure came  near  to  help  or  deliver  her.       The 
gulls  and  the  cormorants  alone  stared  at   her 
and  wondered. 

Meanwhile,  tide  kept  flowing  with  incredible 
rapidity.  The  gale  in  the  Atlantic  had  raised 
an  unwonted  swell ;  and  though  there  was  now 
little  wind,  the  breakers  kept  thundering  in  upon 


102 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


the  firm,  sandy  beach  with  a  deafening  roar  that 

drowned  Cleer's  poor  voice  completely.    To  add 

to  her  misfortunes,  fog  began 
to  drift  slowly  with  the  breeze 
from  seaward.  It  was  getting 
dark  too,  and  the  rocks  were 
damp.  Overhead  the  gulls 
screamed  loud  as  they  flapped 
^  and  circled  above  her. 
^*^  In  an  agony  of  despair, 
Cleer  sat  down  all  unnerved  on 

the  topmost  crag.     She  began  to  cry  to  herself. 

It  was  all  up  now.     She  knew  she  must  stop 

there  alone  till  morning. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


PERIL  BY  LAND. 

The  Trevennacks  dined  in  their  lodgings  at 

Gunwalloe  at  half-past  seven.     But  in  the  rough 

open-air  life  of  summer  visitors  on  the  Cornish 

coast,    meals    as    a    rule    are 

very     movable     feasts ;      and 

Michael     Trevennack     wasn't 

particularly  alarmed  Mrhen  he 

reached  home  that  evening  to 

find     Cleer    hadn't    returned 

before  him.    They  had  missed 

one  another,  somehow,  among 

the   tangled    paths    that    led 

down  the  gully;    an   easy  enough   thing  to  do 

between  those  big  boulders  and  bramble-bushes  ; 

and  it  was  a  quarter  to  eight  before  Trevennack 

began    to   feel    alarmed    at    Cleer's    prolonged 

absence.     By  that  time,  however,  he  grew  thor- 

ao8) 


104 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


oughly    frightened ;    and,    reproaching    himself 

bitterly  for  having  let  his  daughter  stray  out  of 

^g^^  his  sight  in  the  first  place,  he 

^^^^  flM.         hurried  back,  with  his  wife,  at 

J^^Mj^^^      the  top  of  his  speed  along  the 

^K    ^^^V    clifif  path   to  the   Penmorgan 

^^V      ^^m     headland. 

M     ^L    ^^H  It  s  half  an  hour's  walk  from 

W      ^^^^P    Gunwalloe  to  MichaePs  Crag; 

^  ^^^     and  by  the  time  Trevennack 

reached  the  mouth  of  the  gully  the  sands  were 

almost  covered  ;  so  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen 

years  he  was  forced  to  take  the  path  right  under 


f 


the  cliff  to  the  now  compara- 
tively distant  island,  round  whose 
base  a  whole  waste  of  angry  sea 
surged  sullenly.  On  the  way 
they  met  a  few  workmen  who,  in 
answer  to  their  inquiries,  could 
give  them  no  news,  but  who 
turned  back  to  aid  in  the  search 
for  the  missing  young  lady. 
When  they  got  opposite  Michael's  Crag,  a  wide 
belt  of  black  water,  all  encumbered  with  broken 


PERIL   BY   LAND. 


105 


masses  of  sharp  rock,  some  above  and  some 
below  the  surface,  now  separated  them  by  fifty 
yards  or  more  from  the  island.  It  was  growing 
dark  fast,  for  these  were  the  closing  days  of 
August  twilight ;  and  dense  fog  had  drifted  in, 
half  obliterating  everything.  They  could  barely 
descry  the  dim  outline  of  the 
pyramidal  rock  in  its  lower  halt ; 
its  upper  part  was  wholly  : 
shrouded  in  thick  mist  and 
drizzle.  \ 

With  a  wild  cry  of  despair, 
Trevennack  raised  his  voice,  and 
shouted  aloud,  "Cleer,  Cleer ! 
where  are  you  ?  " 

That  clarion  voice,  as  of  his 
namesake  angel,  though  raised  against  the  wind, 
could  be  heard  above  even  the  thud  of  the  fierce 
breakers  that  pounded  the  sand.  On  the  high- 
est peak  above,  where  she  sat,  cold  and  shiver- 
ing, Cleer  heard  it,  and  jumped  up.  "Here! 
here!  father!"  she  cried  out,  with  a  terrible 
effort,  descending  at  the  same  time  down  the 
sheer  face  of  the  cliff  as  far  as  the  dashing  spray 
and  fierce  wild  waves  would  allow  her. 


106  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

No  Other  ear  caught  the  sound  of  that  answer- 
ing cry ;  but  Trevennack's  keen  senses,  preter- 
naturally  awakened  by  the  gravity 
of  the  crisis,  detected  the  faint  ring 
of  her  girlish  voice  through  the 
thunder  of  the  surf.  "She^s  there  !  " 
he  cried,  frantically,  waving  his  hands 
above  his  head.  "  She's  there  ! 
She's  there  !  We  must  get  across 
and  save  her." 

For   a    second    Mrs.    Trevennack 
doubted  whether  he  was  really  right, 

or  whether  this  was  only  one  of  poor  Michael's 

hallucinations.       But   the   next 

moment,     with     another     cry, 

Cleer  waved  her  handkerchief 

in  return,   and  let  it  fall  from 

her  hand.     It  came,  carried  on 

the  light  breeze,  and  dropped 

in   the  water  before  their  very 

eyes,    half    way    across    the 

channel. 

Frenzied  at  the  sight,  Trevennack  tore  off  his 

coat,  and  would  have  plunged  into  the  sea,  then 


PERIL   BY   LAND. 


107 


and  there,  to  rescue  her.  But  the  workmen  held 
him  back.  "  No,  no,  sir;  you  mustn't,"  they  said. 
"  No  harm  can't  come  to  the  young  lady  if  she 
stops  there.  SheVe  only  got  to  sit  on  them 
rocks  there  till  morning,  and  the  tide'll  leave  her 
high  and  dry  right  enough,  as  it  always  do.  But 
nobody  couldn't  live  in  such  a 
sea  as  that  —  not  Tim  o'  Truro. 
The  waves  'u'd  dash  him  up 
afore  he  knowed  where  he  was, 
and  smash  him  all  to  pieces  on 
the  side  o'  the  island." 

Trevennack  tried  to  break 
from  them,  but  the  men  held 
him  hard.  Their  resistance 
angered  him.  He  chafed  under 
their  restraint.  How  dare  these  rough  fellows 
lay  hands  like  that  on  the  Prince  of  the  Arch- 
angels and  a  superior  officer  in  Her  Majesty's 
Civil  Service  ?  But  with  the  self-restraint  that 
was  habitual  to  him,  he  managed  to  refrain,  even 
so,  from  disclosing  his  identity.  He  only  strug- 
gled ineffectually,  instead  of  blasting  them  with 
his  hot  breath,  or  clutching  his  strong  arms 
round  their  bare  throats  and  choking  them. 


108 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


As  he  Stood  there  and  hesitated,  half  unde- 
cided how  to  act,  of  a  sudden  a  sharp  cry  arose 
'  "-  ■"*  from     behind.        Trevennack 

turned  and  looked.  Through 
the  dark  and  the  fog  he  could 
just  dimly  descry  two  men  hur- 
rying up,  with  ropes  and  life 
buoys.  As  they  neared  him,  he 
started  in  unspeakable  horror. 
For  one  of  them,  indeed,  was 
only  Eustace  Le  Neve  ;  but  the 

other  —  the  other  was  that  devil  Walter  Tyrrel, 

who,  he  felt  sure  in  his  own  heart, 

had   killed    their    dear    Michael. 

And  it  was  his  task  in  life  to  fight 

and  conquer  devils. 

For  a  minute  he  longed  to  leap 

upon  him  and  trample  him  under 

foot,  as  long  ago  he  had  trampled 

his  old  enemy,  Satan.     What  was 

the  fellow  doing  here  now?  What 

business  had  he  with  Cleer  ?  Was 

he  always  to  be  in  at  the  death  of  a  Trevennack  ? 
But  true  to  her  trust,  the  silver-haired  lady 


PERIL   BY   LAND.  109 

clutched  his  arm  with  tender  watchfulness. 
"For  Cleer's  sake,  dear  Michael!"  she  whis- 
pered  low  in  his  ear;  "for  Cleer's  sake  — say 
nothing ;  don't  speak  to  him,  don't  notice  him  ! " 

The  distracted  father  drew  back  a  step,  out  of 
reach  of  the  spray.  "  But  Lucy,"  he  cried  low 
to  her,  "only  think!  only  remember!  If  I  cared 
to  go  on  the  cliff  and  just 
spread  my  wings,  I  could  fly 
across  and  save  her  —  so  in- 
stantly, so  easily!" 

His  wife  held  his  hand  hard. 
That  touch  always  soothed 
him.  "If  you  did,  Michael," 
she  said  gently,  with  her  fem- 
inine tact,  "they'd  all  declare 
you  were  mad,  and  had  no  wings  to  fly  with. 
And  Cleer's  in  no  immediate  danger  just  now, 
I  feel  sure.  Don't  try,  there's  a  dear  man. 
That's  right !  Oh,  thank  you." 

Reassured  by  her  calm  confidence,  Trevennack 
fell  back  yet  another  step  on  the  sands,  and 
watched  the  men  aloof.  Walter  Tyrrel  turned 
to  him.     His  heart  was  in  his  mouth.     He  spoke 


110  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

in  short,  sharp  sentences.  *'The  coastguard's 
wife  told  us,"  he  said.  "We've  come  down  to 
get  her  off.  I've  sent  word  direct  to  the  Lizard 
lifeboat.  But  Tm  afraid  it  won't  come.  They 
daren't  venture  out.  Sea  runs  too  hiofh,  and 
these  rocks  are  too  dangerous." 

As  he  spoke,  he  tore  off  his 
coat,  tied  a  rope  round  his 
waist,  flung  his  boots  on  the 
sand,  and  girded  himself  rapidly 
with  an  inflated  life-buoy.  Then, 
before  the  men  could  seize  him 
or  prevent  the  rash  attempt,  he 
had  dashed  into  the  great  waves 
that  curled  and  thundered  on 
the  beach,  and  was  struggling 
hard  with  the  sea  in  a  life  and  death  contest. 

Eustace  Le  Neve  held  the  rope,  and  tried  to 
aid  him  in  his  endeavors.  He  had  meant  to 
plunge  in  himself,  but  Walter  Tyrrel  was  before- 
hand with  him.  He  was  no  match  in  a  race 
against  time  for  the  fiery  and  impetuous  Cornish 
temperament.  It  wasn't  long,  however,  before 
the  breakers  proved  themselves  more  than  equal 


PERIL   BY   LAND. 


Ill 


foes  for  Walter  Tyrrel.     In  another  minute  he 
was  pounded  and  pummeled  on  the  unseen  rocks 
^^"'^        under  water  by  the  great  curling 
billows.     They  seized  him    re- 
sistlessly   on    their  crests,  tum- 
bled him  over  like  a  child,  and 
dashed  him,  bruised  and  bleed- 
ing, one    limp   bundle  of  flesh, 
against  the  jagged  and  pointed 
summits     of     the      submerged 
boulders. 
With  all  his  might,  Eustace  Le  Neve  held  on 

to  the  rope ;  then,  in  coat  and  boots  as  he  stood, 

he  plunged  into  the  waves  and  -^ 

lifted    Walter    Tyrrel     in    his 

strong    arms    landward.       He 

was  a  bigger   built  and  more 

powerful    man    than    his   host, 

and    his    huge    limbs    battled 

harder  with  the  gigantic  waves. 

But   even  so,  in  that   swirling 

flood,  it  was  touch  and  go  with 

him.      The   breakers   lifted   him   off    his    feet, 

tossed  him  to  and  fro  in  their  trough,  flung  him 


112 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


down  again  forcibly  against  the  sharp-edged 
rocks,  and  tried  to  float  off  his  half  unconscious 
burden.  But  Le  Neve  persevered  in  spite  of 
them,  scrambling  and  tottering  as  he  went,  over 
wet  and  slippery  reefs,  with  Tyrrel  still  clasped 
in  his  arms,  and  pressed  tight  to  his  breast,  till 
^"^  ^     -^  he  landed  him  safe  at  last  on 

the  firm  sand  beside  him. 

The  squire  was  far  too  beaten 
and  bruised  by  the  rocks  to 
make  a  second  attempt  against 
those  resistless  breakers.  In- 
deed, Le  Neve  brought  him 
ashore  more  dead  than  alive, 
bleeding  from  a  dozen  wounds 
on  the  face  and  hands,  and  with  the  breath 
almost  failing  in  his  battered  body.  They  laid 
him  down  on  the  beach,  while  the  fishermen 
crowded  round  him,  admiring  his  pluck,  though 
they  deprecated  his  foolhardiness,  for  they 
"knowed  the  squire  couldn't  never  live  ag'in  it." 
But  Le  Neve,  still  full  of  the  reckless  courage 
of  youth,  and  health,  and  strength,  and  man- 
hood, keenly  alive  now  to  the  peril  of  Cleer's 


PERIL  BY   LAND. 


113 


lonely  situation,  never  heeded  their  forebodings. 

He  dashed  in  once  more,  just  as  he  stood,  clothes 
•^  and  all,  in  the  wild  and  desper- 

ate attempt  to  stem  that  fierce 
flood  and  swim  across  to  the 
island. 

In  such  a  sea  as  then  raged, 
indeed,  and  among  such  broken 
rocks,  swimming,  in  the  strict 
sense,  was   utterly    impossible. 

By  some  mere  miracle  of  dashing  about,  how- 
ever —  here,  battered  against  the  sharp  rocks ; 

there,    flung   over   them  by  the  breakers ;    and 

yonder,    again,   sucked   down,  —  ..^ 

like  a  straw  in  an  eddy,  by  the 

fierce  strength  of  the  undertow 

—  Eustace    found    himself   at 

last,  half  unconscious  and  half 

choked,  carried  round  by  the 

swirling  scour  that  set  through 

the  channel  to  the  south  front 

of  the  island.     Next  instant  he 

felt  he  was  cast  against  the  dead  wall  of  rock 

like  an   india  rubber  ball.     He  rebounded  into 

8 


114 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


the  trough.     The  sea  caught  him  a  second  time, 

and  flung  him  once  more,  helpless,  against  the 

dripping  precipice.  With  what 
life  was  left  in  him,  he  clutched 
with  both  hands  the  bare  ser- 
pentine edge.  Good  luck  be- 
friended him.  The  great  wave 
had  lifted  him  up  on  its  towering 
crest  to  the  level  of  vegetation, 
beyond  the  debatable  zone. 
He   clung   to  the  hard  root  of 

woody  sea-aster  in  the  clefts.    The  waves  dashed 

back  in  tumultuous  little  cataracts, 

and  left  him  there  hanging. 

Like  a  mountain  goat,   Eustace 

clambered  up  the  side,   on  hands, 

knees,  feet,  elbows,  glad  to  escape 

with  his  life  from  that  irresistible 

turmoil.      The   treacherous    herbs 

on  the  slope  of  the  crag  were  kind 

to  him.     He  scrambled  ahead,  like 

some  mad,  wild  thing.     He  went 

onward,  upward,  cutting  his  hands  at  each  stage, 

tearing    the    skin   from    his    fingers.      It    was 


PERIL   BY   LAND.  115 

impossible  ;    but   he   did   it.      Next   minute  he 
found  himself  high  and  dry  on  the  island. 

His  clothes  were  clinging  wet, 
of  course,  and  his  limbs  bruised 
and  battered.  But  he  was  safe  on 
the  firm  plateau  of  the  rock  at 
last;  and  he  had  rescued  Cleer 
Trevennack ! 

In  the  first  joy  and  excitement 
of  the  moment  he  forgot  alto- 
gether the  cramping  convention- 
alities of  our  every-day  life ;  and, 
repeating  the  cry  he  had 
heard  Michael  Trevennack 
raise  from  the  beach  below, 
he  shouted  aloud,  at  the  top 
of  his  voice,  "  Cleer  !  Cleer  ! 
Where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  ! "  came  an  answer- 
ing voice  from  the  depths  of 
the  gloom  overhead.  And 
following  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  seemed  to  come,  Eustace  Le 
Neve  clambered  up  to  her. 


116  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

As  he  seized  her  hand  and  wrung  it,  Cleer 
crying  the  while  with  delight  and  relief,  it  struck 
him  all  at  once,  for  the  very  first  time,  he  had 
done  no  good  by  coming,  save  to  give  her  com- 
panionship. It  would  be  hopeless  to  try  carry- 
ing her  through  those  intricate  rock-channels 
and  that  implacable  surf,  whence  he  himself  had 

emerged,  alone  and  unbur- 
dened, only  by  a  miracle. 
They  two  must  stop  alone 
there  on  the  rock  till  morning. 
As  for  Cleer,  too  innocent 
and  too  much  of  a  mere 
woman  in  her  deadly  peril 
to  think  of  anything  but  the 
delightful  sense  of  confidence 
in  a  strong  man  at  her  side  to  guard  and 
protect  her,  she  sat  and  held  his  hand  still, 
in  a  perfect  transport  of  gratitude.  **0h,  how 
good  of  you  to  come!"  she  cried  again  and 
again,  bending  over  it  in  her  relief,  and  half 
tempted  to  kiss  it.  "How  good  of  you  to  come 
across  like  that  to  save  me." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

SAFE   AT    LAST. 

The  night  was  long.     The  night  was  dark. 
Slowly  the  fog  closed  them  in.     It  grew  rainier 
and    more   dismal.     But  on  the  summit  of  the 
crag    Eustace    Le    Neve    stood 
aloft,    and  waved   his   arms,  and 
shouted.     He    lit    a    match   and 
shaded  it.      The  dull  glare  of  it 
through    the    mist     just    faintly 
reached  the  eyes  of  the  anxious 
watchers    on    the    beach    below. 
From    a    dozen    lips    there   rose 
an  answering  shout.    The  pair  on 
the    crag    half    heard     its     last 
echoes.     Eustace   put   his   hands  to  his  mouth 
and  cried  aloud  once  more,  in  stentorian  tones, 
"  All  right.     Cleer's  hear.     We  can  hold  out  till 
morning." 

(117) 


118 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Trevennack  alone  heard  the  words.     But  he 
repeated  them  so  instantly  that  his  wife  felt  sure 

it  was  true  hearing,  not  in- 
sane hallucination.  The  sea 
was  gaining  on  them  now.  It 
had  risen  almost  up  to  the 
face  of  the  cliffs.  Reluctantly 
they  turned  along  the  path  by 
the  gully,  and  mounting  the 
^^_^^„  ^^^  precipice  waited  and  watched 

j(>  ^--^  till  morning   on    the  tor  that 

overlooks  Michael's  Crag  from  the  Penmorgan 
headland. 

Every  now  and  again,  through  that  livelong 
night,  Trevennack  whispered 
in  his  wife's  ear,  "  If  only  I 
chose  to  spread  my  wings, 
and  launch  myself,  I  could  fly 
across  and  carry  her."  And 
each  time  that  brave  woman, 
holding  his  hand  in  her  own 
and  smoothing  it  gently,  an- 
swered in  her  soft  voice,  "But 
then  the  secret  would  be  out,  and  Cleer's  life 


SAFE  AT  LAST.  119 

would  be  spoiled,  and  they'd  call  you  a  madman. 

Wait  till  morning,  dear  Michael;  do,  do,  wait 

till  morning." 

And  Trevennack,   struggling   hard  with   the 

mad  impulse  in  his  heart,  replied  with  all  his 

soul,  "  I  will ;  I  will ;  for  Cleer's  sake  and  yours, 

I'll  try  to  keep  it  down.     I'll 

not  be  mad.     I'll  be  strong 

and  restrain  it." 

For  he  knew  he  was  insane, 

in  his  inmost  soul,  almost  as 

well  as  he  knew  his  name  was 

Michael  the  Archangel. 

On  the  island,  meanwhile,  Eustace  Le  Neve 
and  Cleer  Trevennack  sat  watching  out  the 
weary  night,  and  longing  for  the  dawn  to  make 
the  way  back  possible.  At  least,  Cleer  did,  for 
as  to  Eustace,  in  spite  of  rain  and  fog  and  cold 
and  darkness,  he  was  by  no  means  insensible  to 
the  unwonted  pleasure  of  so  long  a  tete-a-tete,  in 
such  romantic  circumstances,  with  the  beautiful 
Cornish  girl.  To  be  sure  the  waves  roared,  and 
the  drizzle  dripped,  and  the  seabirds  flapped  all 
round  them.     But  many  waters  will  not  quench 


>_ 


120 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


love.     Cleer  was  by  his  side,  holding  his  hand 

in  hers  in  the  dark    for  pure  company's  sake, 

because   she   was    so    frightened ;   and   as  the 

night  wore  on  they  talked  at  last  of  many  things. 

They  were  prisoners  there  for  five  mortal  hours 

^^  or    so,    alone,    together;    and 

^^L^  they  might  as  well  make  the 

jHNRM        best   of    it   by  being  sociable 

with  one  another. 

There  could  be  no  denying, 
however,  that  it  was  cold  and 
damp  and  dark  and  uncom- 
fortable. The  rain  came  beat- 
ing down  upon  them,  as  they  sat  there  side  by 
side  on  that  exposed  rock.  The  spray  from  the 
breakers  blew  in  with  the  night  wind ;  the  light 
breeze  struck  chili  on  their  wet  clothes  and 
faces.  After  awhile  Eustace  began  a  slow  tour 
of  inspection  over  the  crag,  seeking  some  cave 
or  rock  shelter,  some  projecting  ledge  of  stone 
on  the  leeward  side  that  might  screen  their 
backs  at  least  from  the  driving  showers.  Cleer 
couldn't  be  left  alone ;  she  clung  to  his  hand  as 
he  felt  his  way  about  the  islet,  with  uncertain 


SAFE  AT   LAST. 


121 


steps,  through  the   gloom   and  fog.     Once  he 
steadied  himself  on  a  jutting  piece  of  the  rock 

as  he  supposed,  when  to  his 
immense  surprise — whVr'r — 
it  rose  from  under  his  hand, 
with  a  shrill  cry  of  alarm, 
and  fluttered  wildly  seaward. 
It  was  some  sleeping  gull,  no 
doubt,  disturbed  unexpect- 
edly in  its  accustomed  resting-place.  Eustace 
staggered  and  almost  fell.  Cleer  supported  him 
with  her  arm.  He  accepted  her  aid  gratefully. 
They  stumbled  on  in  the 
dark  once  more,  lighting 
now  and  again  for  a  minute 
or  two  one  of  his  six  precious 
matches — he  had  no  more 
in  his  case  —  and  exploring 
as  well  as  they  might  the 
whole  broken  surface  of  that 
fissured  pinnacle.  "I'm  so 
glad  you  smoke,  Mr.  Le 
Neve,"  deer  said,  simply,  as  he  lit  one.  "  For 
if  you  didn't,  you  know,  we'd  have  been  left  here 
all  night  in  utter  darkness." 


122 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


At  last,  in  a  nook  formed  by  the  weathered 
joints,  Eustace  found  a  rugged  niche,  somewhat 
dryer  than  the  rest,  and  laid  Cleer  gently  down 
in  it,  on  a  natural  spring  seat  of  tufted  rock- 
plants.  Then  he  settled  down  beside  her,  with 
what   cheerfulness    he    could    muster    up,   and 

taking  off  his  wet  coat,  spread 
it  on  top  across  the  cleft,  like 
a  tent  roof,  to  shelter  them.  It 
was  no  time,  indeed,  to  stand 
upon  ceremony.  Cleer  recog- 
nized as  much,  and  nestled  close 
to  his  side,  like  a  sensible  girl  as 
she  was,  so  as  to  keep  warm  by 
mere  company;  while  Eustace, 
still  holding  her  hand,  just  to  assure  her  of  his 
presence,  placed  himself  in  such  an  attitude, 
leaning  before  her  and  above  her,  as  to  protect 
her  as  far  as  possible  from  the  drizzling  rainfall 
through  the  gap  in  front  of  them.  There  they 
sat  till  morning,  talking  gradually  of  many 
things,  and  growing  more  and  more  confiden- 
tial, in  spite  of  cold  and  wet,  as  they  learnt  more 
and   more,  with    each    passing    hour,   of    each 


SAFE  AT  LAST.  123 

Other's  standpoint.     There  are  some   situations 
where  you  get  to  know  people  better  in  a  few 
half-hours  together  than  you  could  get  to  know 
them  in  months  upon  months  of  mere  drawing- 
room  acquaintance.     And  this  was  one  of  them. 
Before  morning  dawned,  Eustace  Le  Neve  and 
Cleer  Trevennack  felt  just  as  if 
they  had   known    one   another 
quite    well    for    years.      They 
were   old   and   trusted   friends 
already.        Old     friends  — and 
even     something     more    than 
that.     Though  no  word  of  love 
was  spoken  between  them,  each 
knew    of  what   the   other  was 
thinking.     Eustace  felt  Cleer  loved  him ;  Cleer 
felt  Eustace  loved  her.     And  in  spite  of  rain  and 
cold  and  fog  and   darkness   they  were   almost 
happy— before   dawn   came   to   interrupt   their 
strange  tete-a-tUe  on  the  islet. 

As  soon  as  day  broke  Eustace  looked  out 
from  their  eyrie  on  the  fissured  peak,  and  down 
upon  the  troubled  belt  of  water  below.  The 
sea  was  now  ebbing,  and  the  passage  between 


134 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


the  rock  and  the  mainland  though  still  full  (for 
it  was  never  dry  even  at  spring-tide  low  water) 
^^     was  fairly  passable   by  this   time 
^^Km      over  the   natural  bridge  of  step- 
^^^H  ping-stones.     He  clambered  down 

^^^M  the  side,  giving  his  hand  to  Cleer 

^^^f  from  ledre  to  ledge  as  he  went. 

^^^  The  fog  had  lifted  a  little,  and  on 

HW  the  opposite  headland  they  could 

B  W  just  dimly  descry  the  weary  watch- 

"B'-"^^^       ^rs  looking  eagerly  out  for  them. 
^^     Eustace    put    his    hands    to    his 
mouth,  and  gave  a  loud  halloo.     The  sound  of 
the  breakers  was  less  deafen-  ^ 

ing  now ;  his  voice  carried  to 
the  mainland.  Trevennack, 
who  had  sat  under  a  tarpaulin 
through  the  livelong  night, 
watching  and  waiting  with 
anxious  heart  for  the  morn- 
ing, raised  an  answering  shout, 
and  waved  his  hat  in  his  hand 
frantically.  St.  Michael's  Crag  had  not  betrayed 
its  trust.     That  was  the  motto  of  the  Treven- 


SAFE  AT  LAST. 


125 


nacks — "Stand  fast,  St.  Michael's!" — under  the 

crest  of  the  rocky  islet,  castled  and  mured,  flam- 
boyant. Eustace  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  rock,  and, 
wading  in  the  water  himself, 
or  jumping  into  the  deepest 
parts,  helped  Cleer  across 
the  stepping-stones.  Mean- 
while, the  party  on  the  cliff 
had  hurried  down  by  the 
gully   path ;    and   a    minute 

later  Cleer  was  in  her  mother  s  arms,  while  Tre- 

vennack  held  her   hand,  inarticulate   with   joy, 

and  bent  over  her  eagerly. 

"Oh,    mother,"    Cleer    cried,    in    her    simple 

girlish  naivete,  "Mr.  Le  Neve's 

been  so  kind  to  me !     I  don't 

know  how  I  should  ever  have 

got  through  the  night  without 

him.     It  was  so  good  of  him 

to   come.      He's  been   such  a 

help  to  me." 

The    father    and    mother    both    looked    into 

her    eyes  —  a     single    searching    glance  —  and 


126 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


understood  perfectly.     They  grasped  Le  Neve's 

hand.     Tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks.     Not  a 

word  was  spoken,  but  in  a  cer- 
tain silent  way  all  four  under- 
stood one  another. 

*  Where's  Tyrrel?"  Eustace 
asked. 

And  Mrs.  Trevennack  an- 
swered, "Carried  home,  severe- 
ly hurt.  He  was  bruised  on 
the   rocks.     But  we   hope   not 

dangerously.     The  doctor's  been  to  see  him,  we 

hear,  and   finds   no   bones   broken.     Still,  he's 

terribly  battered  about,  in  those 

fearful  waves,  and  it  must  be 

weeks,  they  tell  us,  before  he 

can  quite  recover." 

But    Cleer,   as   was   natural, 

thought  more  of  the  man  who 

had     struggled     through    and 

reached  her  than  of   the  man 

who  had  failed  in  the  attempt, 

though  he  suffered  all  the  more  for  it.     This  is 

a  world  of  the  successful.     In   it,  as  in   most 


SAFE   AT    LAST. 


127 


Other  planets  I  have  visited,  people  make  a  deal 
more  fuss  over  the  smallest  success  than  over 
the  noblest  failure. 

It  was  no  moment  for  delay.     Eustace  turned 

on  his  way  at  once,  and  ran 
up  to  Penmorgan.  And  the 
Trevennacks  returned,  very 
wet  and  cold,  in  the  dim  gray 
dawn  to  their  rooms  at  Gun- 
walloe. 

As  soon  as  they  were 
alone  —  Cleer  put  safely  to 
bed  — Trevennack  looked  at  his  wife.  "  Lucy," 
he  said,  slowly,  in  a  disappointed  tone,  **  after 
this,  of  course,  come  what 
may,  they  must  marry." 

"They  must,"  his  wife  an- 
swered. "There's  no  other 
way  left  And  fortunately,  -^, 
dear,  I  could  see  from  the 
very  first,  Cleer  likes  him, 
and   he   likes   her." 

The  father  paused  a  moment.     It  wasn  t  quite 
the  match  he  had  hoped  for  a  Trevennack  of 


128 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Trevennack.     Then    he   added,  very   fervently, 
*' Thank  God  \\.vj2i^  him  —  not  that  other  man, 

Tyrrel!  Thank  God,  the 
first  one  fell  in  the  water 
and  was  hurt.  What  should 
we  ever  have  done  —  oh, 
what  should  we  have  done, 
Lucy,  if  she'd  been  cut  off 
all  night  long  on  that  lonely 
crag  face  to  face  with  the 
man  who  murdered  our  dear  boy  Michael?" 
Mrs.  Trevennack  drew  a  long  breath.  Then 
she  spoke  earnestly  once  more. 
"Dear  heart,"  she  said,  looking 
deep  into  his  clear  brown  eyes, 
"now  remember,  more  than  ever, 
Cleer's  future  is  at  stake.  For 
C  leer's  sake,  more  than  ever, 
keep  a  guard  on  yourself,  Mi- 
chael ;  watch  word  and  deed,  do 
nothing  foolish." 

"  You  can  trust  me  ! "  Treven- 
nack answered,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  and  looking  proudly  before  him.    "Cleer's 


SAFE  AT   LAST.  129 

future  is  at  stake.     Clear  has  a  lover  now.     Till 
I         Cleer  is  married,  I'll  give  you  my  sacred  promise 
no  living  soul  shall  ever  know  in  any  way  she's 
an  archangel's  daughter." 


CHAPTER   IX. 


MEDICAL   OPINION. 


From  that  day  forth,  by  some  unspoken  com- 
pact, it  was  '* Eustace"  and  "  Cleer,"  wherever 
they  met,  between  them.     Le  Neve  began  it,  by 

coming  round  in  the  afternoon 
of  that  self-same  day,  as  soon  as 
he'd  slept  off  the  first  effects  of 
his  fatigue  and  chill,  to  inquire 
of  Mrs.  Trevennack  "how  Cleer 
was  getting  on  "  after  her  night's 
^  _  _  _  exposure.  And  Mrs.  Treven- 
Sj  i;:^  W  nack  accepted  the  frank  usurpa- 
tion in  very  good  part,  as  indeed 
was  no  wonder,  for  Cleer  had  wanted  to  know 
half  an  hour  before  whether  "  Eustace"  had  yet 
been  round  to  ask  after  her.  The  form  of 
speech  told  all.  There  was  no  formal  engr  e- 
ment,  and  none  of  the  party  knew  exactly  how 

(130) 


MEDICAL  OPINION. 


131 


or  when  they  began  to  take  it  for  granted ;  but 
from  that  evening  on  Michael's  Crag  it  was  a 

tacitly  accepted  fact  between 
Le  Neve  and  the  Treven- 
nacks  that  Eustace  was  to 
marry  Cleer  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  a  permanent  ap- 
pointment anywhere. 

Engineering,  however,  is  an 
overstocked  profession.  In 
that  particular  it  closely  re- 
sembles most  other  callings. 
The  holidays  passed  away,  and  Walter  Tyrrel 
recovered,  and  the  Trevennacks  returned  to 
town  for  the  head  of  the  house  to  take  up  his 
new  position  in  the  Admiralty 
service ;  but  Eustace  Le  Neve 
heard  of  no  opening  anywhere 
for  an  energetic  young  man 
with  South  American  experi- 
ence. Those  three  years  he 
had  passed  out  of  England,  in- 
deed, had  made  him  lose  touch  with  other  mem- 
bers of  his  craft.     People  shrugged  their  shoul- 


132 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


ders  when  they  heard  of  him,  and  opined,  with 
a  chilly  smile,  he  was  the  sort  of  young  man 

who  ought  to  go  to  the  colonies. 
That's  the  easiest  way  of  shelv- 
ing all  similar  questions.  The 
colonies  are  popularly  regarded 
in  England  as  the  predestined 
dumping-ground  for  all  the  fools 
and  failures  of  the  mother-coun- 
try. So  Eustace  settled  down  in 
lodgings  in  London,  not  far  from 
the  Trevennacks,  and  spent  more 
of  his  time,  it  must  be  confessed, 
in  going  round  to  see  Cleer  than 
in  perfecting  himself  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  chosen  art.  Not  that 
he  failed  to  try  every  chance  that 
lay  open  to  him  —  he  had  far  too  ^r^ 
much  energy  to  sit  idle  in  his 
chair  and  let  the  stream  of  promo- 
tion flow  by  unattempted;  but 
chances  were  few  and  applicants 
were  many,  and  month  after  month  passed  away 
to  his  chagrin  without  the  clever  young  engineer 


MEDICAL   OPINION.  133 

finding  an  appointment  anywhere.     Meanwhile, 
his  little  nest-egg  of  South-American    savings 
was  rapidly  disappearing;   and  though   Tyrrel, 
who   had    influence   with   railway  men,  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  on  his  friend's  behalf— 
partly  for  Cleer's  sake,  and  partly  for  Eustace's 
own  —  Le  Neve  saw  his  balance 
growing  daily   smaller,  and   be- 
gan to  be  seriously  alarmed  at 
last,  not   merely   for   his  future 
prospects    of    employment    and 
marriage,  but  even   for  his  im- 
mediate chance  of  a  modest  live- 
lihood. 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Trevennack, 
for  her  part,  entirely  free  from 
sundry  qualms  of  conscience  as  to  her  husband's 
condition  and  the  rightfulness  of  concealing  it 
altogether  from  Cleer's  accepted  lover.  Treven- 
nack himself  was  so  perfectly  sane  in  every  or- 
dinary relation  of  life,  so  able  a  business  head, 
so  dignified  and  courtly  an  English  gentleman,' 
that  Eustace  never  even  for  a  moment  suspected 
any   undercurrent    of    madness   in   that   sound 


134 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


practical  intelligence.  Indeed,  no  man  could 
talk  with  more  absolute  common  sense  about  his 
daughter's  future,  or  the  duties  and  functions  of 
an  Admiralty  official,  than  Michael  Trevennack. 
It  was  only  to  his  wife  in  his  most  confidential 
moments  that  he  ever  admitted  the  truth  as  to 
his  archangelic  character ;  to  all  others  whom  he 

met  he  was  simply  a  distin- 
guished English  civil  servant 
of  blameless  life  and  very  solid 
judgment.  The  heads  of  his 
B;lm^^^H  department  placed  the  most 
^ti  W^W    mM    implicit  trust  in   Trevennack's 

opinion ;  there  was  no  man 
about  the  place  who  could  de- 
cide a  knotty  point  of  detail  off-hand  like  Mi- 
chael Trevennack.  What  was  his  poor  wife  to 
do,  then  ?  Was  it  her  place  to  warn  Eustace 
that  Cleer's  father  might  at  any  moment  unex- 
pectedly develop  symptoms  of  dangerous  insan- 
ity Was  she  bound  thus  to  wreck  her  own 
daughter's  happiness  ?  Was  she  bound  to  speak 
out  the  very  secret  of  her  heart  which  she  had 
spent   her   whole   life   in   inducing  Trevennack 


MEDICAL  OPINION. 


135 


himself    to    bottle    up  with    ceaseless    care    in 
his  distracted  bosom  ? 

And  yet  .  .  .  she  saw  the 
other  point  of  view  as  well  — 
alas,  all  too  plainly.  She  was 
a  martyr  to  conscience,  like 
Walter  Tyrrel  himself ;  was  it 
right  of  her,  then,  to  tie  Eus- 
tace for  life  to  a  girl  who  was  really  a  madman's 
daughter  ?  This  hateful  question  was  up  before 
her  often  in  the  dead  dark  night,  as  she  lay 
awake  on  her  bed,  tossing  and  turning  fever- 
ishly ;  it  tortured  her  in  addition  to  her  one  life- 
long trouble.  For  the  silver-haired  lady  had 
borne  the  burden  of  that  un- 
known sorrow  locked  up  in  her 
own  bosom  for  fifteen  years ; 
and  it  had  left  on  her  face 
such  a  beauty  of  holiness  as  a 
great  trouble  often  leaves  in- 
delibly stamped  on  women  of 
the  same  brave,  loving  tem- 
perament. 

One  day,  about  three  months  later,  in  their 


136  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

drawing-room  at  Bayswater,  Eustace  Le  Neve 
happened  to  let  drop  a  casual  remark  which  cut 
poor  Mrs.  Trevennack  to  the  quick,  like  a  knife 
at  her  heart.  He  was  talking  of  some  friend  of 
his  who  had  lately  got  engaged.  "  It's  a  ter- 
rible thing,"  he  said,  seriously.  "  There's  insan- 
ity in  the  family.  I  wouldn^t  marry  into  such  a 
family  as  that  —  no,  not  if  I   loved  a   girl   to 

distraction,     Mrs.    Trevennack. 

The   father's   in    a    mad-house, 

you  know ;    and  the  girl's  very 

'H^^    f^Lc^  riice  now,  but  one  never  can  tell 

fl^w^JL^       when  the  tendency  may  break 

out.  And  then — just  think! 
what  an  inheritance  to  hand  on  to  one's  inno- 
cent children  ! " 

Trevennack  took  no  open  notice  of  what  he 
said.  But  Mrs.  Trevennack  winced,  grew  sud- 
denly pale,  and  stammered  out  some  conven- 
tional none-committing  platitude.  His  words 
entered  her  very  soul.  They  stung  and  galled 
her.  That  night  she  lay  awake  and  thought 
more  bitterly  to  herself  about  the  matter  than 
ever.     Next  morning  early,  as  soon  as  Trevcn- 


MEDICAL   OPINION. 


137 


nack  had  set  off  to  catch  the  fast  train  from 
Waterloo  to  Portsmouth  direct  (he  was  fre- 
quently down  there  on  Admiralty 
business),  she  put  on  her  cloak  and 
bonnet,  without  a  word  to  Cleer, 
and  set  out  in  a  hansom  all  alone 
to  Harley  Street. 

The  house  to  which  she  drove 
was  serious-looking  and  profes- 
sional—  in  point  of  fact,  it  was 
Dr.  Yate-Westbury's,  the  well- 
known  specialist  on  mental  dis- 
eases. She  sent  up  no  card  and  gave  no  name. 
On  the  contrary,  she  kept  her  veil  down  —  and 
it  was  a  very  thick  one.  But  Dr.  Yate-West- 
bury  made  no  comment  on  this  reticence ;  it  was 
a  familiar  occurrence  with  him 
—  people  are  often  ashamed  to 
have  it  known  they  consult  a 
mad-doctor. 

**  I  want  to  ask  you  about  my 
husbands   case,"    Mrs.    Treven- 
nack  began,  trembling.    And  the  great  specialist, 
all  attention,  leaned  forward  and  listened  to  her. 


138  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

Mrs.  Trevennack  summoned  up  courage,  and 
started  from  the  very  beginning.  She  described 
how  her  husband,  who  was  a  government  serv- 
ant, had  been  walking  below  a  cliff  on  the  sea- 
shore with  their  only  son,  some  fifteen  years 
earlier,  and  how  a  shower  of  stones  from  the  top 
had  fallen  on  their  heads  and  killed  their  poor 

boy,  whose  injuries  were  the 
more  serious.  She  could  men- 
tion it  all  now  with  compara- 
tively little  emotion  ;  great  sor- 
rows since  had  half  obliterated 
that  first  and  greatest  one. 
But  she  laid  stress  upon  the 
point  that  her  husband  had 
been  struck,  too,  and  was  very  gravely  hurt  — 
so  gravely,  indeed,  that  it  was  weeks  before  he 
recovered  physically. 

"  On  what  part  of  the  head  ?  "  Yate-Westbury 
asked,  with  quick  medical  insight. 

And  Mrs.  Trevennack  answered,  "  Here,"  lay- 
her  small  gloved  hand  on  the  center  of  the  left 
temple. 

The  great  specialist  nodded.     "  Go  on,"  he 


MEDICAL  OPINION. 


139 


said,    quietly.      "  Fourth    frontal    convolution ! 
And  it  was  a  month  or  two,  I  have  no  doubt, 

before  you  noticed  any  seri- 
ous symptoms  supervening  ?  " 
"  Exactly  so,"  Mrs.  Trevcn- 
nack  made  answer,  very  much 
relieved.  "  It  was  all  of  a 
month  or  two.  But  from 
that  day  forth  —  from  the 
very  beginning,  I  mean  —  he 
had  a  natural  horror  of  going  beneath  a  cliff,  and 
he  liked  to  get  as  high  up  as  he  could,  so  as  to 
be  perfectly  sure  there  was  nobody  at  all  any- 
where above  to  hurt  him."  And  then  she  went 
on  to  describe  in  short  but  graphic  phrase  how 
he  loved  to  return  to  the 
place  of  his  son's  accident, 
and  to  stand  for  hours  on 
lonely  sites  overlooking  the 
spot,  and  especially  on  a  crag 
which  was  dedicated  to  St. 
Michael. 

The   specialist   caught   at  what   was   coming 
with  the  quickness,  she  thought,  of  long  expe- 


140 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


rience.    **  Till  he  fancied  himself  the  archangel  ?" 
he  said,  promptly  and  curiously. 

Mrs.  Trevennack  drew  a 
deep  breath  of  satisfaction 
and  relief.  **Yes,"  she  an- 
swered, flushing  hot.  "Till 
he  fancied  himself  the  arch- 
angel. There  —  there  were 
extenuating  circumstances, 
you  see.  His  own  name's 
Michael;  and  his  family  — 
well,  his  family  have  a  spe- 
cial connection  with  St.  Michaels  Mount;  their 
crest's  a  castled  crag  with  '  Stand  fast,  St.  Mi- 
chael's ! '  and  he  knew  he  had  to  fight  against 
this  mad  impulse  of  his  own 
■ —  which  he  felt  was  like  a 
devil  within  him  —  for  his 
daughter's  sake ;  and  he  was 
always  standing  alone  on  these 
rocky  high  places,  dedicated 
to  St.  Michael,  till  the  fancy 
took  full  hold  upon  him ;  and  now,  though 
he   knows  in   a  sort   of  a  way    he's   mad,    he 


MEDICAL   OPINION.  141 

believes     quite     firmly    he's    St.     Michael    the 
Archangel." 

Yate-Westbury  nodded  once  more.  "  Pre- 
cisely the  development  I  should  expect  to 
occur,"  he  said,  "after  such  an  accident." 

Mrs.  Trevennack  almost  bounded  from  her 
seat  in  her  relief.  "Then  you  attribute  it  to  the 
accident  first  of  all  ?  "  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"Not  a  doubt  about  it,"  the  specialist  an- 
swered. "  The  region  you  in- 
dicate is  just  the  one  where 
similar  illusory  ideas  are  apt 
to  arise  from  external  injuries. 
The  bruise  gave  the  cause,  and 
circumstances  the  form.  Be- 
sides, the  case  is  normal  — 
quite  normal  altogether.  Does  he  have  frequent 
outbreaks  ? " 

Mrs.  Trevennack  explained  that  he  never  had 
any.  Except  to  herself,  and  that  but  seldom, 
he  never  alluded  to  the  subject  in  any  way. 

Yate-Westbury  bit  his  lip.  "  He  must  have 
great  self-control,"  he  answered,  less  confidently. 
"In  a  case  like  that,  I'm  bound  to  admit,  my 


142  MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 

prognosis — for  the  final  result  —  would  be  most 
unfavorable.  The  longer  he  bottles  it  up  the 
more  terrible  is  the  outburst  likely  to  be  when 
it  arrives.  You  must  expect  that  some  day  he 
will  break  out  irrepressibly." 

Mrs.   Trevennack  bowed  her  head  with  the 
solemn  placidity  of  despair.      "I'm   quite   pre- 
pared    for     that,"     she     said, 
quietly  ;  "  though  I  try  hard  to 
delay  it,  for  a  specific   reason. 
That    wasn't    the    question    I 
came  to  consult  you  about  to- 
day.    I  feel  sure  my  poor  hus- 
band's case  is  perfectly  hope- 
less, as  far  as  any  possibility  of 
cure  is  concerned ;  what  I  want  to  know  is  about 
another   aspect   of   the   case."     She  leaned  for- 
ward  appealingly.        "Oh,    doctor,"   she   cried, 
clasping  her  hands,  "  I  have  a  dear  daughter  at 
home  —  the  one  thing  ye  t  left  me.     She's  en- 
gaged to  be  married  to  a  young  man  whom  she 
loves  —  a  young  man  who  loves  her.      Am   I 
bound  to  tell  him  she's  a  madman's  child  ?     Is 
there  any  chance  of  its  affecting  her?     Is  the 
taint  hereditary?" 


MEDICAL  OPINION. 


143 


She  spoke  with  deep  earnestness.    She  rushed 
out  with   it   without   reserve.      Yate-Westbury 

gazed  at  her  compassionately. 
He  was  a  kind-hearted  man. 
"  No ;  certainly  not,"  he  an- 
swered, with  emphasis.  "  Not 
the  very  slightest  reason  in  any 
way  to  fear  it.  The  sanest 
man,  coming  from  the  very 
sanest  and  healthiest  stock  on 
earth,  would  almost  certainly  be  subject  to  delu- 
sions under  such  circumstances.  This  is  acci- 
dent, not  disease  —  circumstance,  not  tempera- 
ment. The  injury  to  the  brain  is  the  result  of  a 
special  blow.  Grief  for  the 
loss  of  his  son,  and  brooding 
over  the  event,  no  doubt  con- 
tributed to  the  particular  shape 
the  delusion  has  assumed.  But 
the  injury's  the  main  thing.  I 
don't  doubt  there's  a  clot  of 
blood  formed  just  here  on  the 
brain,  obstructing  its  functions  in  part,  and  dis- 
turbing its  due  relations.     In  every  other  way, 


144  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

you  say,  he's  a  good  man  of  business.     The  very 
apparent  rationaHty  of  the  delusion  —  the  way 

it's  been  led  up  to  by  his  habit 
of  standing  on  cliffs,  his  name, 
his  associations,  his  family^ 
everything  —  is  itself  a  good 
sign  that  the  partial  insanity  is 
due  to  a  local  and  purely  acci- 
dental cause.  It  simulates  rea- 
son as  closely  as  possible.  Dis- 
miss the  question  altogether  from  your  mind,  as 
far  as  your  daughter's  future  is  concerned.  Its 
no  more  likely  to  be  inherited  than  a  broken  leg 
or  an  amputated  arm  is." 

Mrs.  Trevennack  burst  into  a  flood  of  joyous 
tears.  "  Then  all  I  have  to  do," 
she  sobbed  out,  "  is  to  keep 
him  from  an  outbreak  until 
after  my  daughter's  married." 
Dr.  Yate-Westbury  nodded. 
"That^s  all  you  have  to  do," 
he  answered,  sympathetically. 
"And  I'm  sure  Mrs.  Trevennack  — "  he  paused 
with  a  start  and  checked  himself. 


MEDICAL  OPINION. 


145 


"Why,   how  do  you  know  my  name?"   the 
astonished  mother  cried,  drawing  back  with  a 

little  shudder  of  half  super- 
stitious alarm  at  such  surpris- 
ing prescience. 

Dr.  Yate-Westbury  made  a 
rmfS^^^**?"    clean  breast  of  it.     "  Well,  to 
^^—     tell  the  truth,"  he  said,  "Mr. 
Jrg  Trevennack     himself      called 

round  here  yesterday,  in  the  afternoon,  and 
stated  the  whole  case  to  me  from  his  own  point 
of  view,  giving  his  name  in  full  —  as  a  man 
would  naturally  do  —  but  never  describing  to 
me  the  nature  of  his  delu- 
sion. He  said  it  was  too 
sacred  a  thing  for  him  to  so 
much  as  touch  upon ;  that 
he  knew  he  wasn't  mad,  but 
that  the  world  would  think 
him  so ;  and  he  wanted  to 
know,  from  something  he'd 
heard  said,  whether  madness 
caused  by  an  injury  of  the  sort  would  or  would 
not  be  considered  by  medical  men  as  inheritable. 

lO 


14G 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


And  I  told  him  at  once,  as  I've  told  you  to-day, 
there  was  not  the  faintest  danger  of  it.  But  I 
never  made  such  a  slip  in  my  life  before  as 
blurting  out  the  name.  I  could  only  have  done 
it  to  you.  Trust  me,  your  secret  is  safe  in  my 
keeping.     I  have  hundreds  in  my  head."     He 

took  her  hand  in  his  own  as 
he  spoke.  **  Dear  madam," 
he  said,  gently,  "  I  under- 
stand ;  I  feel  for  you." 

"Thank  you,"  Mrs.  Tre- 
vennack  answered  low,  with 
tears  standing  in  her  eyes. 
"I'm — I'm  so  glad  you've 
seen  him.  It  makes  your 
opinion  so  much  more  valuable  to  me.  But 
you  thought  his  delusion  wholly  due  to  the 
accident,  then?" 

"  Wholly  due  to  the  accident,  dear  lady. 
Yes,  wholly,  wholly  due  to  it.  You  may  go 
home  quite  relieved.  Your  doubts  and  fears 
are  groundless.  Miss  Trevennack  may  marry 
with  a  clear  conscience." 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  BOLD  ATTEMPT. 

During  the  next  ten  or  eleven  months  poor 
Mrs.  Trevennack  had  but  one  abiding  terror  — 
that  a  sudden  access  of  irrepressible  insanity 
might  attack  her  husband  before 
Cleer  and  Eustace  could  manage  to 
get  married.  Trevennack,  however, 
with  unvarying  tenderness,  did  his 
best  in  every  way  to  calm  her  fears. 
Though  no  word  on  the  subject 
passed  between  them  directly,  he  let 
her  feel  with  singular  tact  that  he 
meant  to  keep  himself  under  proper 
control.  Whenever  a  dangerous 
topic  cropped  up  in  conversation,  he  would  look 
across  at  her  affectionately,  with  a  reassuring 
smile.  "  For  Cleer's  sake,"  he  murmured  often, 
if  she  was  close  by  his  side ;  "  for  Cleer's  sake, 

(147) 


148 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


dearest ! "  and  his  wife,  mutely  grateful,  knew  at 
once  what  he  meant,  and  smiled  approval  sadly. 

Her  heart  was  very  full ;  her 
part  was  a  hard  one  to  play 
with  fitting  cheerfulness ;  but 
in  his  very  madness  itself  she 
couldn't  help  loving,  admiring, 
and  respecting  that  strong, 
grave  husband  who  fought  so 
hard  against  his  own  profound 
convictions. 

Ten  months  passed  away,  however,  and  Eus- 
tace Le  Neve  didn't  seem  to  get  much  nearer 
any  permanent  appointment  than  ever.  He 
began  to  tire  at  last  of  applying 
unsuccessfully  for  every  passing 
vacancy.  Now  and  then  he  got 
odd  jobs,  to  be  sure  ;  but  odd 
jobs  won't  do  for  a  man  to 
marry  upon ;  and  serious  work 
seemed  always  to  elude  him. 
Walter  Tyrrel  did  his  best,  no 
doubt,  to  hunt  up  all  the  directors  of  all  the 
companies  he  knew  ;  but  no  posts  fell  vacant  on 


A   BOLD   ATTEMPT.  149 

any  line  they  were  connected  with.  It  grieved 
Walter  to  the  heart,  for  he  had  always  had  the 
sincerest  friendship  for  Eustace  Le  Neve;  and 
now  that  Eustace  was  going  to  marry  Cleer  Tre- 
vennack,  Walter  felt  himself  doubly  bound  in 
honor  to  assist  him.  It  was  he  who  had  ruined 
the  Trevennacks'  hopes  in  life  by  his  unin- 
tentional injury  to  their  only 
son  ;  the  least  he  could  do  in 
return,  he  thought,  and  felt, 
was  to  make  things  as  easy 
as  possible  for  their  daughter 
and  her  intended  husband. 

By  July,  however,  things 
were  looking  so  black  for  the 
engineer's  prospects  that  Tyr- 
rel  made  up  his  mind. to  run  up  to  town  and 
talk  things  over  seriously  with  Eustace  Le  Neve 
himself  in  person.  He  hated  going  up  there, 
for  he  hardly  knew  how  he  could  see  much  of 
Eustace  without  running  some  risk  of  knocking 
up  accidentally  against  Michael  Trevennack ; 
and  there  was  nothing  on  earth  that  sensitive 
young  squire  dreaded  so  much  as  an  unexpected 


150 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


meeting  with  the  man  he  had  so  deeply,  though 
no   doubt   so    unintentionally   and   unwittingly, 

injured.  But  he  went,  all  the 
same.  He  felt  it  was  his  duty. 
And  duty  to  Walter  Tyrrel 
spoke  in  an  imperative  mood 
which  he  dared  not  disobey, 
however  much  he  might  be 
minded  to  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  it. 
Le  Neve  had  little  to  suggest 
of  any  practical  value.  It  wasn't 
his  fault,  Tyrrel  knew ;  engineering  was  slack, 
and  many  good  men  were  lookiniT^  out  for 
appointments.  In  these 
crowded  days,  it's  a  foolish 
mistake  to  suppose  that 
energy,  industry,  ability, 
?nd  integrity  are  necessarily 
successful.  To  insure  suc- 
cess you  must  have  influ- 
ence, opportunity,  and  good 
luck  as  well,  to  back  them. 
Without  these,  not  even  the  invaluable  quality 
of  unscrupulousness  itself  is  secure  from  failure. 


A   BOLD   ATTEMPT. 


151 


If  only  Walter  Tyrrel  could  have  got  his  friend 
to  accept  such  terms,  indeed,  he  would  gladly, 
for  Cleer's  sake,  have  asked  Le  Neve  to  marry 
on  an  allowance  of  half  the  Penmorgan  rent-roll. 
But    in    this    commercial     age,    such    quixotic 
arrangements  are  simply  impossible.     So  Tyrrel 
set  to  work  with  fiery  zeal  to 
find  out  what  openings  were  just 
then  to  be  had;  and  first  of  all 
for  that  purpose  he  went  to  call 
on  a  parliamentary  friend  of  his, 
Sir   Edward  Jones,  the  fat  and 
good-natured   chairman    of    the 
Great  North  Midland  Railway. 
Tyrrel  was  a  shareholder  whose 
vote  was  worth  considering,  and 
he  supported  the  Board  with  unwavering  loyalty. 
Sir  Edward  was  therefore  all   attention,  and 
listened    with    sympathy    to    Tyrrel's    glowing 
account  of  his  friend's   engineering  energy  and 
talent.     When  he'd  finished  his  eulogy,  however, 
the   practical   railway   magnate   crossed    his  fat 
hands  and  put  in,  with  very  common-sense  dry- 
ness, "  If  he's  so  clever  as  all  that,  why  doesn't 
he  have  a  shot  at  this  Wharfedale  Viaduct  ?" 


152 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


Walter  Tyrrel   drew  back  a  little    surprised. 
The  Wharfedale  Viaduct  was  a  question   just 

then  in  everybody's  mouth. 
But  what  a  question!  Why,  it 
was  one  of  the  great  engineer- 
ing works  of  the  age ;  and  it 
was  informally  understood 
that  the  company  were  pre- 
pared to  receive  plans  and 
designs  from  any  competent 
person.  There  came  the  rub,  though.  Would 
Eustace  have  a  chance  in  such  a  competition  as 
that?  Much  as  he  believed  in  his  old  school- 
fellow, Tyrrel  hesitated  and  reflected.  "  My 
friend's  young,  of  course,"  he 
said,  after  a  pause.  "  He's 
had  very  little  experience  — 
comparatively,  I  mean  —  to 
the  greatness  of  the  under- 
taking." 

Sir  Edward  pursed  his  fat 
lips.     It's  a  trick  with  your 
railway   kings.     ''Well,   young    men   are   often 
more   inventive   than  old   ones,"   he   answered, 


"Vv 


A   BOLD   ATTEMPT. 


153 


slowly.  "  Youth  has  ideas ;  middle  age  has 
experience.  In  a  matter  like  this,  my  own  belief 
is,  the  ideas  count  for  most.  Yes,  if  I  were 
you,  Tyrrel,  I'd  ask  your  friend  to  consider  it." 

"You  would  ?  "    Walter  cried,  brightening  up. 

"  Aye,  that  I  would,"  the  great  railway-man 
answered,  still  more  confidently  than  before, 
rubbing  his  fat  hands  reflect- 
ively. ''  It's  a  capital  opening. 
Erasmus  Walker'll  be  in  for 
it,  of  course ;  and  Erasmus 
Walker'll  get  it.  But  don't 
you  tell  your  fellow  that.  It'll 
only  discourage  him.  You 
just  send  him  down  to 
Yorkshire  to  reconnoiter  the 
ground;  and  if  he's  good  for  anything,  when 
he's  seen  the  spot  he'll  make  a  plan  of  his  own, 
a  great  deal  better  than  Walker's.  Not  that 
that'll  matter,  don't  you  know,  as  far  as  this 
viaduct  goes.  The  company'll  take  Walker's,  no 
matter  how  good  any  other  fellow's  may  be,  and 
how  bad  Walker's  —  because  Walker  has  a 
great  name,  and  because  they  think  they  can't 


154  MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 

go  far  wrong  if  they  follow  Walker.  But  still, 
if  your  friend's  design  is  a  good  one,  it'll  attract 
attention — which  is  always  something;  and 
after  they've  accepted  Walker's,  and  flaws  begin 
to  be  found  in  it  —  as  experts  can  always  find 
flaws  in  anything,  no  matter  how  well  planned  — 
your  friend  can  come  forward  and  make  a  fuss 

in  the  papers  (or  what's  better 
still,  you  can  come  forward  and 
make  it  for  him)  to  say  these 
flaws  were  strikingly  absent 
from  his  very  superior  and 
scientific  conception.  There'll 
be  flaws  in  your  friend's  as 
well,  of  course,  but  they  won't 
be  the  same  ones,  and  nobody'll  have  the  same 
interest  in  finding  them  out  and  exposing  them. 
And  that'll  get  your  man  talked  about  in  the 
papers  and  the  profession.  It's  better,  anyhow, 
than  wasting  his  time  doing  nothing  in  London 
here." 

"He  shall  do  it!"  Walter  cried,  all  on 
fire.  "I'll  take  care  he  shall  do  it.  -A nd  Sir 
Edward,    I   tell    you,    I'd  give    five    thousand 


A  BOLD  ATTEMPT. 


156 


pounds    down    if  only    he    could    get    the    job 
away  from  Walker." 

"Got  a  grudge  against  Walker, 
then  ? "  Sir  Edward  cried  quickly, 
puckering  up  his  small  eyes. 

"Oh,  no,"  Tyrrel  answered,  smil- 
ing ;  that  was  not  much  in  his  line. 
"  But  IVe  got  strong  reasons  of  my 
own,  on  the  other  hand,  for  wishing 
to  do  a  good  turn  to  Le  Neve  in 
this  business." 

And  he  went  home,  reflecting  in 
his  own  soul  on  the  way  that 
many  thousands  would  be  as 
dross  in  the  pan  to  him  if 
only  he  could  make  Cleer 
Trevennack  happy. 

But  that  very  same  evening 
Trevennack  came  home  from 
the  Admiralty  in  a  most  ex- 
cited condition. 

"Lucy!"   he    cried    to   his 
wife,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone  in  the  room  with 
her,  "who  do  you  think  I  saw  to-day — there, 


166  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

alive  in  the  flesh,  standing  smiling  on  the  steps 
of  Sir  Edward  Jones'  house?  —  that  brute 
Walter  Tyrrel,  who  killed  our  poor  boy  for  us ! " 
"Hush!  hush,  Michael!"  his  wife  cried  in 
answer.  "It's  so  long  ago  now,  and  he  was  such 
a  boy  at  the  time  ;  and  he  repents  it  bitterly  — 
I'm  sure  he  repents  it.  You  prom- 
ised youM  try  to  forgive  him.  For 
Cleer's  sake,  dear  heart,  you  must 
keep  your  promise." 

Trevennack  knit  his  brows. 
"  What  does  he  mean,  then,  by 
dogging  my  steps  ? "  he  cried. 
"  What  does  he  mean  by  coming 
after  me  up  to  London  like  this? 
What  does  he  mean  by  tempting 
me  ?  I  can't  stand  the  sight  of  him.  I  won't  be 
challenged,  Lucy  ;  I  don't  know  whether  it's  the 
devil  not,  but  when  I  saw  the  fellow  to-day  I 
had  hard  work  to  keep  my  hands  off  him.  I 
wanted  to  spring  at  his  throat.  I  would  have 
liked  to  throttle  him  ! " 

The  silver-haired  lady  drew  still  closer  to  the 
excited   creature,    and    held   his   hands   with   a 


A   BOLD   ATTEMPT. 


157 


gentle  pressure.     "  Michael,"  she  said,  earnestly, 

this  is  the  devil.     This  is  the  greatest  temptation 

of  all.  This  is  what  I  dread 
most  for  you.  Remember,  it's 
Satan  himself  that  suggests  such 
thoughts  to  you.  Fight  the 
devil  withiny  dearest.  Fight 
him  within,  like  a  man.  That's 
the  surest  place,  after  all,  to 
conquer  him." 

Trevennack  drew  himself  up 

proudly,  and  held  his  peace  for  a  time.     Then 

he  went  on  in  another  tone  : 

**  I    shall    get    leave,"   said 

he   quietly,  becoming  pure 

human     once     more.       "  I 

shall  get  leave  of  absence. 

I   can't  stop  in  town  while 

this   creature's   about.      I'd 

have  to  spring  at  him  if  I 

saw  him  again.    I  can't  keep 

my  hands  off  him.     I'll  fly 

from   temptation.      I    must  go   down   into   the 
country." 


158 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


''Not  to  Cornwall!"  Mrs.  Trevennack  cried, 

in  deep  distress ;  for  she  dreaded  the  effect  of 

those  harrowing  associations  for 
him. 

Trevennack  shook  his  head 
gravely.  "  No,  not  to  Cornwall," 
he  answered.  "IVe  another  plan 
this  time.  I  want  to  go  to  Dart- 
moor. It's  lonely  enough  there. 
Not  a  soul  to  distract  me. 
You     know,     Lucy,     when     one 

means    to     fight     the     devil,    there's     nothing 

for     it    like    the    wilderness ; 

and     Dartmoor's     wilderness 

enough  for    me.      I    shall   go 

to     Ivybridge,    for    the    tors 

and    the    beacons." 

Mrs.    Trevennack   assented 

gladly.     If  he  wanted  to  fight 

the  devil,   it  was  best  at  any 

rate  he  should  be  out  of  reach 

of  Walter  Tyrrel  while  he  did 

it.     And  it  was  a  good  thing  to  get  him  away, 

too,  from  St.  Michael's  Mount,  and  St.  Michael's 


A   BOLD   ATTEMPT.  159 

Crag,  and  St.  Michael's  Chair,  and  all  the  other 
reminders  of  his  archangelic  dignity  in  the 
Penzance  neighborhood.  Why,  she  remem- 
bered with  a  wan  smile  —  the  dead  ghost  of 
a  smile  rather  —  he  couldn't  even  pass  the 
Angel  Inn  at  Helston  without  explaining  to 
his  companions  that  the  parish  church  was 
dedicated  to  St.  Michael,  and  that  the  swinging 
sign  of  the  old  coaching  house 
once  bore  a  picture  of  the 
winged  saint  himself  in  mortal 
conflict  with  his  Satanic  enemy. 
It  was  something,  at  any  rate, 
to  get  Trevennack  away  from 
a  district  so  replete  with  mem- 
ories of  his  past  greatness,  to  ^• 
say  nothing  of  the  spot  where  their  poor  boy 
had  died.  But  Mrs.  Trevennack  didn't  know 
that  one  thing  which  led  her  husband  to 
select  Dartmoor  this  time  for  his  summer 
holiday  was  the  existence,  on  the  wild  hills 
a  little  behind  Ivybridge,  of  a  clatter-crowned 
peak,  known  to  all  the  country-side  as  St. 
Michael's   Tor,    and    crowned    in    earlier   days 


160 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


by  a  medieval  chapel.      It  was  on  this  sacred 

site  of  his  antique  cult  that 
Trevennack  wished  to  fight 
the  internal  devil.  And  he 
would  fight  it  with  a  will, 
on  that  he  was  resolved ;  fight 
and,  as  became  his  angelic 
reputation,  conquer. 


CHAPTER  XL 


BUSINESS    IS    BUSINESS. 

It  reconciled  Cleer   to   leaving    London   for 
awhile  when  she  learnt  that  Eu:,tace  Le  Neve 
was  going  north  to  Yorkshire, 
with  Walter  Tyrrel,  to  inspect 
the  site  of  the  proposed  Wharfe- 
dale    viaduct.      Not    that    she 
ever  mentioned  his  companion's 
name  in  her  father's  presence. 
Mrs.    Trevennack   had  warned 
her  many  times  over,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  but  without  cause 
assigned,    never    to    allude    to 
Tyrrel's  existence  before  her  father's  face ;  and 
Cleer,  though   she   never  for  one  moment  sus- 
pected the  need  for  such  reticence,  obeyed  her 
mother's  injunction  with    implicit  honesty.     So 
they  parted  two  ways,  Eustace  and  Tyrrel  for 


11 


(161) 


162 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


the    north,    the    Trevennacks    for    Devonshire 
Cleer  needed  a  change  indeed ;  she'd  spent  the 
^^        best  part  of  a  year  in  London. 
,^^^^^  And   for  Cleer,   that  was   a 

^^^^B      wild    and    delightful     holiday. 
^^K^^^M    Though  Eustace  wasn't  there, 
^•^^^^^^^^    to  be  sure,  he  wrote  hopefully 
-ji^UL  from  the  north  ;  he  was  matur- 

ing his  ideas ;  he  was  evolving  a  plan  ;  the  sense 
of  the  magnitude  of  his  stake  in  this  attempt 
had  given  him  an  unwonted  outburst  of  inspira- 
tion. As  she  wandered  with  her  father  amonof 
those  boggy  uplands,  or  stood  on 
the  rocky  tors  that  so  strangely 
crest  the  low  flat  hill-tops  of  the 
great  Devonian  moor.  She  felt  a 
marvelous  exhilaration  stir  her 
blood  —  the  old  Cornish  freedom 
making  itself  felt  through  all  the 
restrictions  of  our  modern  civili- 
zation. She  was  to  the  manner 
born,  and  she  loved  the  Celtic  West  Country. 
But  to  Michael  Trevennack  it  was  life,  health, 
vigor.    He  hated  London.    He  hated  officialdom. 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS. 


163 


He  hated  the  bonds  of  red  tape  that  enveloped 
him.     It's  hard  to  know  yourself  an  archangel — 

"One  of  the  seven  who  nearest  to  the  throne 
Stand  ready  at  command,  and  are  as  eyes 
That  run  through  all  the  heavens,  or  down  to  the  earth," 

and  yet  to  have  to  sit  at  a  desk  all  day  loni^r, 
with  a  pen  in  your  hand,  in  obedience  to  the 
orders  of  the  First  Lord  of 
the  Admiralty  !  It's  hard  to 
know  you  can 

"  Bear  swift  errands  over  moist  and 
dry, 
O'er  sea  and  land," 

as  his  laureate  Milton  puts  it, 
and  yet  be  doomed  to  keep 
still  hour  after  hour  in  a  stuffy  office,  or  to 
haggle  over  details  of  pork  and  cheese  in  a 
malodorous  victualing  yard.  Trevennack  knew 
his  "Paradise  Lost"  by  heart  — it  was  there, 
indeed,  that  he  had  formed  his  main  ideas  of  the 
archangelic  character ;  and  he  repeated  the  sono- 
rous lines  to  himself,  over  and  over  again,  in  a 
ringing,  loud  voice,  as  he  roamed  the  free  moor 
or  poised  light  on  the  craggy  pinnacles.     This 


164  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

was  the  world  that  he  loved,  these  wild  rolling 
uplands,  these  tall  peaks  of  rock,  these 
great  granite  boulders ;  he  had  loved  them 
always,  from  the  very  beginning  of  things; 
had  he  not  poised  so  of  old,  ages  and  ages 
^^  gone  by,   on  that  famous  crag 

I 

■      ^^       So  he  had  poised  in  old  days; 

m  ^^     so  he  poised  himself  now,  with 

^^^"^^  ^  Cleer  by  his  side,  an  angel  con- 
fessed, on  those  high  tors  of  Dartmoor. 

But  amid  all  the  undulations  of  that  great 
stony  ocean,  one  peak  there  was  that  delighted 
Trevennack's  soul  more  than  any  of  the  rest  — 
a  bold  russet  crest,  bursting  suddenly  through 
the  heathery  waste  in  abrupt  ascent,  and  scarcely 
to  be  scaled,  save  on  one  difficult  side,  like  its 
Miltonic  prototype.  Even  Cleer,  who  accompa- 
nied her  father  everywhere  on  his  rambles,  clad 


"  Of  alabaster,  piled  up  to  the  clouds, 

Conspicuous  far,  winding  with  one 
ascent 

Accessible  from  earth,  one  entrance 
high; 

The  rest  was  craggy  cliff  that  over- 
hung 

Still  as  it  rose,  impossible  to  climb." 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS.  165 

in  stout  shoes  and  coarse  blue  serge  gown-^ 

for  Dartmoor   is   by  no   means   a   place  to  be 

approached  by  those  who,  like 
Agag,  "walk  delicately" — even 
Cleer  didn't  know  that  this 
ci*aggy  peak,  jagged  and  point- 
ed like  some  Alpine  or  dolo- 
mitic  aiguille,  was  known  to 
all  the  neighboring  shepherds 
around  as  St.  Michael's  Tor, 
from  its  now  forgotten  chapel. 
A    few   wild    Moorland    sheep 

grazed  now  and  again  on  the  short  herbage  at 

its  base ;  but  for  the  most  part 

father     and     daughter     found 

themselves    alone     amid     that 

gorse-clad  solitude.     There  Mi- 

chael  Trevennack  would  stand 

erect,  with  head  bare  and  brows 

knit,  in  the  full  eye  of  the  sun, 

for  hour  after  hour  at  a  time, 

fighting  the   devil  within    him. 

And  when  he  came  back  at  night,  tired  out  with 

his  long  tramp  across  the  moor  and  his  internal 


166  MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 

Struggle,  he  would  murmur  to  his  wife,  "  I've 
conquered  him  to-day.  It  was  a  hard,  hard 
fight !     But  I  conquered  !     I  conquered  him ! " 

Up  in  the  north,  meanwhile,  Eustace  Le 
Neve  worked  away  with  a  will  at  the  idea  for 
his  viaduct.     As  he  rightly  wrote  to  Cleer,  the 

need  itself  inspired  him.  Love 
is  a  great  engineer,  and  Eus- 
tace learned  fast  from  him. 
He  was  full  of  the  fresh  orig- 
inality of  youth  ;  and  the  place 
took  his  fancy  and  impressed 
itself  upon  him.  Gazing  at  it 
each  day,  there  rose  up  slowly 
by  degrees  in  his  mind,  like  a  dream,  the  picture 
of  a  great  work  on  a  new  and  startling  princi- 
ple—  a  modification  of  the  cantilever  to  the 
necessities  of  the  situation.  Bit  by  bit  he 
worked  it  out,  and  reduced  his  first  floating  con- 
ception to  paper ;  then  he  explained  it  to  Walter 
Tyrrel,  who  listened  hard  to  his  explanations, 
and  tried  his  best  to  understand  the  force  of 
the  technical  arguments.  Enthusiasm  is  catch- 
ing ;    and  Le  Neve  was   enthusiastic   about  his 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS. 


167 


imaginary  viaduct,   till   Walter  Tyrrel    in    turn 

grew   almost   as   enthusiastic    as    the   designer 

himself  over  its  beauty  and 
utility.  So  charmed  was  he 
with  the  idea,  indeed,  that 
when  Le  Neve  had  at  last 
committed  it  all  to  paper,  he 
couldn't  resist  the  temptation 
of  asking  leave  to  show  it  to 
Sir  Edward  Jones,  whom  he 
had  already  consulted  as  to 
Eustace's  prospects. 
Eustace  permitted  him,  somewhat  reluctantly, 

to  carry  the  design  to  the  great 

railway  king,  and  on  the  very  first 

day  of  their  return  to  London,  in 

the  beginning  of  October,  Tyrrel 

took  the  papers  round  to  Sir  Ed- 
ward's house  in  Onslow  Gardens. 
The  millionaire  inspected  it  at 

first   with    cautious   reserve.     He 

was   a  good   business    man,   and 

he  hated  enthusiasm  —  except  in 

money  matters.    But  gradually,  as  Walter  Tyrrel 


168 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


explained  to  him  the  various  points  in  favor  of 
the  design,  Sir  Edward  thawed.  He  looked 
into  it  carefully.  Then  he  went  over  the  calcu- 
lations of  material  and  expense  with  a  critical 
eye.  At  the  end  he  leant  back  in  his  study 
chair,  with  one  finger  on  the  elevation  and  one 

eye  on  the  figures,  while  he 
observed  with  slow  emphasis : 
"  This  is  a  very  good  de- 
sign. Why,  man,  its  just 
about  twenty  times  better 
/    than  Erasmus  Walker's." 

'^Then  you  think  it  may 
succeed?"  Tyrrel  cried,  with 
keen  delight,  as  anxious  for  Cleer's  sake  as  if 
the  design  were  his  own.  "  You  think  they  may 
take  it  ?  " 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  Sir  Edward  answered,  confi- 
dently, with  a  superior  smile.  "  Not  the  slight- 
est chance  in  the  world  of  that.  They'd  never 
even  dream  of  it.  It's  novel,  you  see,  novel, 
while  Walker's  is  conventional.  And  they'll 
take  the  conventional  one.  But  its  a  first  rate 
design  for  all  that,  I  can  tell  you.  I  never  saw 
a  better  one." 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS.  169 

"Well,  but  how  do  you  know  what  Walker's 
is  like?"  Tyrrel  asked,  somewhat  dismayed  at 
the  practical  man's  coolness. 

"  Oh,  he  showed  it  me  last  night,"  Sir  Edward 
answered,  calmly.  "A  very  decent  design,  on 
the  familiar  lines,  but  not  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to 
Le  Neve's,  of  course ;  any  jour- 
neyman could  have  drafted  it. 
Still,  it  has  Walker's  name  to  it, 
don't  you  see  —  it  has  Walker's  u\ 
name  to  it ;  that  means  every- 
thing." 

"  Is  it  cheaper  than  this  would 
be,"  Tyrrel  asked,  for  Le  Neve 
had  laid  stress  on  the  point  that 
for  economy  of  material,  com- 
bined with  strength  of  v/eight-resisting  power, 
his  own  plan  was  remarkable. 

"Cheaper!"  Sir  Edward  echoed.  "Oh  dear, 
no.  By  no  means.  Nothing  could  very  well  be 
cheaper  than  this.  There's  genius  in  its  con- 
struction, don't  you  see?  It's  a  new  idea,  intel- 
ligently applied  to  the  peculiarities  and  difficult- 
ies of  a  very  unusual  position,  taking  advantage 


170 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


most  ingeniously  of  the  natural  support  afforded 
by  the  rock  and  the  inequalities  of  the  situation  ; 

I  should  say  your  friend  is  well 
within  the  mark  in  the  estimate 
he  gives."  He  drummed  his 
finger  and  calculated  mentally. 
"  It'd  save  the  company  from  a 
hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds,  I  fancy," 
he  said,  ruminating,  after  a 
minute. 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  Tyrrel  ex- 
claimed, taken  aback,  "men  of  business  like  the 
directors  of  the  Great  North  Midland  will  fling 
away  two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  of  the  shareholder's 
money  as  if  it  were  dirt,  by 
accepting  Walker's  plan  when 
they  might  accept  this  one?" 
Sir  Edward  opened  his 
palms,  like  a  Frenchman, 
in  front  of  him.  It  was  a 
trick  he  had  picked  up  on  foreign  bourses. 
"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  answered,  compassion- 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS. 


171 


ately,  "directors  are  men,  and  to  err  is  human. 
These  great  North  Midland   people   are   mere 
flesh  and  blood,  and  none  of  them  very  brilliant. 
They    know    Walker,   and    they'll    be    largely 
guided  by  Walker's  advice  in  the  matter.     If  he 
saw  his  way  to  make  more  out  of  contracting  for 
carrying  out  somebody  else's 
design,  no  doubt  he'd  do  it. 
But  failing   that,  he'll   palm 
his  own  off  upon  them,  and 
Stillingfleet'll  accept  it.    You 
see  with   how  little  wisdom 
the  railways  of  the  world  are 
governed!     People  think,  if 
they  get  Walker    to    do   a 
thing    for    them,  they   shift   the   responsibility 
upon  Walker's  shoulders.     And  knowing  noth- 
ing themselves,  they  feel  that's  a  great  point ;  it 
saves  them  trouble  and  salves  their  consciences." 

A  new  idea  seemed  to  cross  TyrrePs  mind. 
He  leant  forward  suddenly. 

"But  as  to  safety,"  he  asked,  with  some 
anxiety,  "viewed  as  a  matter  of  life  and  death, 
I  mean?     Which  of  these  two  viaducts  is  likely 


172 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


to  last  longest,  to  be  freest  from  danger,  to  give 
rise  in  the  end  to  least  and  fewest  accidents?" 

"Why,  your  friend  Le 
Neve's,  of  course,"  the  mill- 
ionaire answered,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation. 
"You  think  so?" 
"I  don't  think  so  at  all, 
my  dear  fellow,  I  know  it. 
I'm  sure  of  it.  Look  here," 
and  he  pulled  out  a  design 
from  a  pigeon-hole  in  his  desk;  "this  is  in  con- 
fidence, you  understand.  I  oughtn't  to  show  it 
to  you ;  but  I  can  trust  your 
honor.  Here's  Walker's  idea. 
It  isn't  an  idea  at  all,  in  fact,  it's 
just  the  ordinary  old  stone  via- 
duct, with  the  ordinary  dangers, 
and  the  ordinary  iron  girders  — 
nothing  in  any  way  new  or  orig- 
inal. It's  respectable  mediocrity. 
On  an  affair  like  that,  and  with 
this  awkward  curve,  too,  just  behind  taking-off 
point,  the   liability  to  accident   is  considerably 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS. 


173 


greater  than  in  a  construction  like  Le  Neve's, 

where  nothing's  left  to  chance,  and  where  every 

source  of  evil,  such  as  land- 
springs,  or  freshets,  or  weak- 
ening, or  concussion,  is  con- 
sidered beforehand  and  suc- 
cessfully provided  against.  If 
a  company  only  thought  of 
the  lives  and  limbs  of  its  pas- 
sengers—  which  it  never  does, 
of   course — and  had   a    head 

on  its  shoulders,  which  it  seldon  possesses,   Le 

Neve's  is  undoubtedly  the  design  it  would  adopt 

in  the  interests  of  security." 
Tyrrel  drew  a  long  breath. 

all   this,"  he   said,  "and  yet 

you  won't  say  a  word  for  Le 

Neve    to    the  directors.     A 

recommendation    from    you, 

you  see — " 

Sir  Edward  shrugged  his 
shoulders.   '*  Impossible  !  "  he 
answered,  at  once.    "It  would  be  a  great  breach 
of  confidence.     Remember,  Walker  showed  me 


"  And  you  know 


174 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


his  design  as  a  friend,  and  after  having  looked  at 
it  I  couldn't  go  right  off  and  say  to  Stillingfleet, 
'I've  seen  Walkers  plans,  and  also  another  fel- 
low's, and  I  advise  you,  for  my  part,  not  to  take 
my  friend's.'  It  wouldn't  be  gentlemanly." 
Tyrrel  paused  and  reflected.  He  saw  the 
dilemma.  And  yet,  what  was 
the  breach  of  confidence  or  of 
etiquette  to  the  deadly  peril  to 
life  and  limb  involved  in  choos- 
ing the  worst  design  instead  of 
the  better  one?  It  was  a  hard 
nut  to  crack.  He  could  see  no 
way  out  of  it. 

"  Besides,"  Sir  Edward  went 
on,  musingly,  "even  if  I  told 
them  they  wouldn't  believe  me.  Whatever 
Walker  sends  in  they're  sure  to  accept  it. 
They've  more  confidence,  I  feel  sure,  in  Walker 
than  in  anybody." 

A  light  broke  in  on  Walter  Tyrrel's  mind. 
"  Then    the   only  way,"  he   said,  looking  up, 
"would  be   .    .    .    to  work  upon  Walker ;  induce 
him  not  to  send  in,  if  that  can  be  managed.'' 


BUSINESS   IS   BUSINESS.  175 

"But  it  can^t  be,"  Sir  Edward  answered,  with 
brisk  promptitude.  "Walker's  a  money-grub- 
bing chap.  If  he  sees  a  chance 
of  making  a  few  thousands  more 
anywhere,  depend  upon  it  he'll 
make  'em.  He's  a  martyr  to 
^0  ~  money,    he    is.     He    toils    and 

^^B^^  slaves  for    £  s.    d.    all    his   life. 

He   has   no    other   interests." 
"What    can    he   want  with  it?"    Tyrrel    ex- 
claimed.    "  He's   a   bachelor,   isn't   he,   without 
wife  or  child  ?     What  can  a  man  like  that  want 
to  pile  up  filthy  lucre  for?" 

"Can't  say,  I'm  sure,"  Sir  Edward  answered, 
good  humoredly.  "I  have 
my  quiver  full  of  them  my- 
self, and  every  guinea  I  get 
I  find  three  of  my  children 
are  quarreling  among  them- 
selves for  ten  and  sixpence 
apiece  of  it.  But  what  Wal- 
ker can  want  with  money 
heaven  only  knows.  If  /  were  a  bachelor,  now, 
and  had  an  estate  of  my  own  in  Cornwall,  say. 


176  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

or  Devonshire,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I'd 
do   with    my   income." 

Tyrrel  rose  abruptly.  The  chance 
words  had  put  an  idea  into  his  head. 

''What's  Walker's  address?"  he 
asked,  in  a  very  curt  tone. 

Sir  Edward  gave  it  him. 

"  You'll  find  him  a  tough  nut, 
though,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  as 
he  followed  the  enthusiastic  young 
Cornishman  to  the  door.  "  But  I 
see  you're  in  earnest.     Good  luck  go  with  you  ! " 


CHAPTER   XII. 


A    HARD    BARGAIN. 


Tyrrel  took  a  hansom,  and  tore  round  in  hot 
haste  to  Erasmus  Walker's  house.  He  sent  in 
his  card.  The  famous  engineer  was  happily  at 
home.  Tyrrel,  all  on  fire, 
found  himself  ushered  into 
the  great  man's  study.  Mr. 
Walker  sat  writing  at  a  lux- 
urious desk  in  a  most  luxuri- 
ous room  —  writing,  as  if  for 
dear  life,  in  breathless  haste 
and  eagerness.  He  simply 
paused  for  a  second  in  the 
midst  of  a  sentence,  and  looked  up  impatiently 
at  the  intruder  on  his  desperate  hurry.  Then 
he  motioned  Tyrrel  into  a  chair  with  an  imperi- 
ous wave  of  his  ivory  penholder.  After  that,  he 
went  on  writing  for  some  moments  in  solemn 


12 


(177) 


178 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


silence.     Only  the  sound  of  his  steel  nib,  travel- 
ing fast  as  it  could  go  over  the  foolscap  sheet, 

broke  for  several  seconds  the 
embarrassing  stillness. 

Walter  Tyrrell,  therefore, 
had  ample  time  meanwhile  to 
consider  his  host  and  to  take 
in  his  peculiarities  before 
Walker  had  come  to  the  end 
of  his  paragraph.  The  great 
engineer  was  a  big-built,  bull- 
necked,  bullet-headed  sort  of 
person,  with  the  self-satisfied  air  of  monetary 
success,  but  with  that  ominous  hardness  about 
the  corners  of  the  mouth 
which  constantly  betrays  the 
lucky  man  of  business.  His 
abundant  long  hair  was  iron- 
gray  and  wiry  —  Erasmus 
Walker  had  seldom  time  to 
waste  in  getting  it  cut  —  his 
eyes  were  small  and  shrewd ; 
his  hand  was  firm,  and  gripped  the  pen  in  its 
grasp  like  a  ponderous  crowbar.     His  writing, 


'^ZIpogoed 


A   HARD   BARGAIN. 


179 


Tyrrel  could  see,  was  thick,  black,  and  decisive. 
Altogether  the  kind  of  man  on  whose  brow  it 

was  written  in  legible  charac- 
ters that  it's  dogged  as  does 
it.  The  delicately  organized 
Cornishman  felt  an  instinctive 
dislike  at  once  for  this  great 
coarse  mountain  of  a  bullying 
Teuton.  Yet  for  Cleer  s  sake 
he  knew  he  mustn't  rub  him 
the  wrong  way.  He  must  put 
up  with  Erasmus  Walker  and 
all  his  faults,  and  try  to  approach  him  by  the 
most  accessible  side  —  if  in- 
deed any  side  were  access- 
ible at  all,  save  the  waist- 
coat pocket. 

At  last,  however,  the  en- 
gineer paused  a  moment  in 
his  headlong  course  through 
sentence  after  sentence,  held 
his  pen  half  Irresolute  over  a 
a  new  blank  sheet,  and  turning  round  to  Tyrrel, 
without  one  word  of  apology,  said,  in  a  quick, 


180 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


NO 
FXCCPT  M 
BUSINE&S 


decisive  voice,  "  This  is  business,  I  suppose, 
business?  for  if  not,  I've  no  time.  I'm  very 
pressed  this  morning.  Very  pressed,  indeed. 
Very  pressed  and  occupied." 

"Yes,  it  is  business,"  Tyrrel  answered, 
promptly,  taking  his  cue  with  Celtic  quickness. 
"Business   that   may   be    worth    a    good    deal 

:   of  money."       Erasmus   Walker 

lomtmi  pricked  up  his  ears  at  that 
welcome  sound,  and  let  the 
pen  drop  quietly  into  the  rack 
by  his  side.  "Only  I'm  afraid 
I  must  ask  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  or  so  of  your  valuable 
time.  You  will  not  find  it 
thrown  away.  You  can  name 
your    own    price    for    it." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  the  engineer  replied,  taking 
up  his  visitor's  card  again  and  gazing  at  it  hard 
with  a  certain  inquiring  scrutiny,  "  if  it's  busi- 
ness, and  business  of  an  important  character,  of 
course  I  need  hardly  say  I'm  very  glad  to  attend 
to  you.  There  are  so  many  people  who  come 
bothering  me  for  nothing,  don't  you   know  — 


A  HARD  BARGAIN. 


181 


charitable  appeals  or  what  not  —  that  I'm 
obliged  to  make  a  hard  and  fast  rule  about  in- 
terviews. But  if  it's  business 
you  mean,  I'm  your  man  at 
once.  I  live  for  public  works. 
Go  ahead.  I'm  all  attention." 
He  wheeled  round  in  his 
revolving  chair,  and  faced 
Tyrrel  in  an  attitude  of  sharp 
practical  eagerness.  His  eye 
was  all  alert.  It  was  clear, 
the  man  was  keen  on  every 
passing  chance  of  a  stray  hundred  or  two  extra. 
His  keenness  disconcerted  the  conscientious  and 
idealistic  Cornishman.  For  a 
second  or  two  Tyrrel  debated 
how  to  open  fire  upon  so  un- 
wonted an  enemy.  At  last 
lui  began,  stammering,  "I've 
a  friend  who  has  made  a 
design  for  the  Wharfedale 
Viaduct." 

"Exactly,"  Erasmus  Walker  answered,  pounc- 
ing down  upon  him  like  a  hawk.      "And   IVe 


182 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


made  one  too.     And  as  mine's  in  the  field,  why, 
your  friend's  is  waste  paper." 

His  sharpness  half  silenced  Tyrrel.     But  with 
an  effort  the  younger  man  went  on,  in  spite  of 
interruption.      "That's  precisely  what  I've  come 
about,"  he  said  ;   "I  know  that  already.     If  only 
you'll  have  patience  and  hear  me  out  while  I  un- 
/  fold  my  plan,  you'll  find  what  I 
have  to  propose  is  all  to  your 
own  interest.     I'm  prepared  to 
pay  well  for  the  arrangement  I 
ask.     Will  you  name  your  own 
price    for    half    an    hour's    con- 
versation,   and    then    listen    to 
me     straight    on    and     without 
further  interruption?" 
Erasmus  Walker  glanced  back  at  him  with 
those  keen  ferret-like  eyes  of  his.     **Why,  cer- 
tainly," he  answered;    "I'll  listen   if   you  wish. 
We'll  treat  it  as  a  consultation.     My   fees  for 
consultation  depend,  of  course,  upon  the  nature 
of  the  subject  on  which  advice  is  asked.     But 
you'll  pay  well,  you  say,  for  the  scheme  you  pro- 
pose.    Now,   this   is  business.     Therefore,    we 


A    HARD   BARGAIN. 


183 


must  be  business-like.  So  first,  what  guarantee 
have  I  of  your  means  and  solvency?  I  don't 
deal  with  men  of  straw.  Are  you  known  in  the 
City?"  He  jerked  out  his  sentences  as  if  words 
were  extorted  from  him  at  so  much  per  thousand. 

"I  am  not,"  Tyrrel  answered,  quietly;  "but  I 
gave  you  my  card,  and  you 
can  see  from  it  who  I  am  — 
Walter  Tyrrel  of  Penmorgan 
Manor.  I'm  a  landed  pro- 
prietor, with  a  good  estate  in 
Cornwall.  And  I'm  prepared 
to  risk  —  well,  a  large  part  of 
my  property  in  the  business 
I  propose  to  you,  without  any 
corresponding  risk  on  your 
part.  In  plain  words,  Fm  prepared  to  pay  you 
money  down,  if  you  will  accede  to  my  wish,  on 
a  pure  matter  of  sentiment." 

"Sentiment?"  Mr.  Walker  replied,  bringing 
his  jaw  down  like  a  rat-trap,  and  gazing  across 
at  him,  dubiously.     "  I  don't  deal  in  sentiment." 

"No  ;  probably  not,"  Tyrrel  answered.  "  But 
I  said  sentiment,  Mr.  Walker,  and  I'm  willing  to 


184  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

pay  for  it.     I  know  very  well  it's  an  article  at  a 
discount   in   the   City.     Still,   to  me,   it  means 

money's  worth,  and  I'm  pre- 
pared to  give  money  down  to  a 
good  tune  to  humor  it.  Let 
me  explain  the  situation.  I'll 
do  so  as  briefly  and  as  simply 
as  I  can,  if  only  you'll  listen  to 
me.  A  friend  of  mine,  as  I 
said,  one  Eustace  Le  Neve, 
who  has  been  constructing  engineer  of  the  Ro- 
sario  and  Santa  Fe,  in  the  Argentine  Confed- 
eracy, has  made  a  design  for  the  Wharfedale 
Viaduct.  It's  a  very  good  design,  and  a  prac- 
tical design  ;  and  Sir  Edward  Jones, 
who  has  seen  it,  entirely  approves 
of  it." 

"Jones  is  a  good  man,"  Mr. 
Walker  murmured,  nodding  his 
head  in  acquiescence.  "  No  dashed 
nonsense  about  Jones.  Head 
screwed  on  the  right  way.  Jones 
is  a  good  man  and  knows  what  he's  talking 
about." 


A   HARD   BARGAIN. 


185 


"Well,  Jones  says  it's  a  good  design,"  Tyrrel 
went  on,  breathing  freer  as  he  gauged  his  man 
more  completely.  "And  the  facts  are  just 
these :  My  friend's  engaged  to  a  young  lady  up 
in  town  here,  in  whom  I  take  a  deep  interest — " 
Mr.  Walker  whistled  low  to  himself,  but  didn't 
interrupt  him  —  "  a  deep  friendly  interest," 
Tyrrel  corrected,  growing 
hot  in  the  face  at  the  man's 
evident  insolent  misconstruc- 
tion of  his  motives  ;  "  and  the 
long  and  the  short  of  it  is, 
his  chance  of  marrying  her 
depends  very  much  upon 
whether  or  not  he  can  get 
this  design  of  his  accepted 
by  the  directors." 

"He  can't,"  Mr.  Walker  said,  promptly,  "un- 
less he  buys  me  out.  That's  pat  and  flat.  He 
can't,  for  mine's  in ;  and  mine's  sure  to  be 
taken." 

"So  I  understand,"  Tyrrel  went  on.  "Your 
name,  I'm  told,  carries  everything  before  it. 
But  what  I  want  to  suggest  now  is  simply  this 


186 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


—  How  much  will  you  take,  money  down  on 

the   nail,   this   minute,   to   withdraw   your   own 

design  from  the  informal  com- 
petition ?" 

Erasmus  Walker  gasped 
hard,  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
stared  at  him.  "  How  much 
will  I  take,"  he  repeated, 
slowly  ;  "  how  —  much  —  will 
—  I  —  take  —  to  withdraw  my 

design  ?     Well,  that  is  remarkable  !  " 

"  I    mean    it,"   Tyrrel   repeated,  with  a  very 

serious  face.     "  This  is  to  me, 

I  will  confess,  a  matter  of  life 

and  death.     I  want  to  see  my 

friend    Le   Neve   in    a    good 

position  in  the  world,  such  as 

his  talents  entitle  him  to.     I 

don't  care  how  much  I  spend 

in    order    to    insure    it.      So 

what   I   want  to  know  is  just 

this  and   nothing   else  —  how 

much  will  you  take  to  withdraw  from  the  com- 
petition ? " 


A   HARD   BARGAIN.  187 

Erasmus  Walker  laid  his  two  hands  on  his  fat 
knees,  with  his  legs  wide  open,  and  stared  long 
and  hard  at  his  incomprehensible  visitor.     So 
strange  a  request  stunned  for  a   moment  even 
that  sound  business  head.     A  minute  or  two  he 
paused.     Then,  with  a  violent  effort,  he  pulled 
himself  together.     "Come,  come,"  he  said,  "  Mr. 
Tyrrel ;  let's  be  practical  and 
above-board.       I    don't   want 
to  rob  you.     I  don't  want  to 
plunder     you.       I     see    you 
mean  business.     But  how  do 
you  know,  suppose  even  you 
buy  me  out,  this  young  fel-    ^  _ 
low's  design  has  any  chance  ^ 
of   being   accepted?       What 
reason  have  you  to  think  the  Great  North  Mid- 
land people  are  likely  to  give  such  a  job  to  an 
unknown  beginner?" 

"Sir  Edward  Jones  says  it's  admirable," 
Tyrrel    ventured,    dubiously. 

"Sir  Edward  Jones  says  it's  admirable! 
Well,  that's  good,  as  far  as  it  goes.  Jones 
knows  what  he's  talking  about.     Head's  screwed 


188 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


on   the   right   way.     But  has  your  friend   any 
interest  with  the  directors —  that's  the  question  ? 

Have  you  reason  to  think,  if  he 
sends  it  in,  and  I  hold  back 
mine,  his  is  the  plan  theyM  be 
likely  to  pitch  upon?" 

"  I  go  upon  its  merits,"  Wal- 
;j^^  ter  Tyrrel  said,  quietly. 
"  The  very  worst  thing  on  earth  any  man  can 
ever  possibly  go  upon,"  the  man  of  business  re- 
torted, with  cynical  confidence.  "If  that's  all 
you've  got  to  say,  my  dear  sir,  it  wouldn't  be  fair 
of  me  to  make  money  terms 
with  you.  I  won't  discuss  my 
price  in  the  matter  till  I've 
some  reason  to  believe  this  idea 
of  yours  is  workable." 

"  I  have  the  desigrns  here  all 
ready,"  Walter  Tyrrel  replied, 
holding  them  out.  "Plans, 
elevations,  specifications,  esti 
mates,  sections,  figures,  every- 
thing. Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  look  at 
them  ?  Then,  perhaps,  you'll  be  able  to  see 
whether  or  not  the  offer's  genuine." 


A  HARD   BARGAIN.  189 

The  great  engineer  took  the  roll  with  a  smile. 
He  opened  it  hastily,  in  a  most  skeptical  humor. 
Walter  Tyrrel  leant  over  him,  and  tried  just  at 
first  to  put  in  a  word  or  two  of  explanation,  such 
as  Le  Neve  had  made  to  himself ;  but  an  occa- 
sionally  testy    "Yes,  yes;    I  see,"  was    all    the 
thanks  he  got  for  his  pains  and  trouble.    After  a 
minute  or  two  he  found  out  it  was  better  to  let 
the  engineer  alone.     That  prac- 
ticed   eye  picked  out  in  a  mo- 
ment the  strong  and  weak  points 
of  the  whole  conception.    Grad- 
ually, however,  as  Walker  went 
on,  Walter  Tyrrel  could  see  he 
paid  more  and  more  attention 
to  every  tiny  detail.     His  whole  manner  altered. 
The  skeptical  smile  faded  away,  little  by  little, 
from   those  thick,  sensuous  lips,  and  a  look  of 
keen  interest  took  its  place  by  degrees  on  the 
man's  eager  features.     "  That's  good  !  "  he  mur- 
mured more  than   once,  as  he  examined  more 
closely  some  section  or  enlargement.      "That's 
good !  very  good  !  knows  what  he's  about,  this 
Eustace   Le  Neve  man  ! "      Now  and  again  he 


190 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


turned  back,  to  re-examine  some  special  point. 
"  Clever  dodge  !  "  he  murmured,  half  to  himself. 

**  Clever  dodge,  undoubtedly. 
Make  an  engineer  in  time  — 
no  doubt  at  all  about  that  — 
if  only  they'll  give  him  his 
head,  and  not  try  to  thwart 
him." 

Tyrrel  waited  till  he'd  fin- 
ished. Then  he  leant  for- 
ward once  more.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of 
it  now  ?"  he  asked,  flushing  hot.  "  Is  this  busi- 
ness —  or  otherwise  ?" 

*'  Oh,  business,  business,"  the  great  engineer 
murmured,  musically,  regard- 
ing the  papers  before  him 
with  a  certain  professional 
affection.  "  It's  a  devilish 
clever  plan  —  I  won't  deny 
that  —  and  it's  devilish  well 
carried  out  in  every  detail." 

Tyrrel   seized    his    oppor- 
tunity.    "And   if   you   were   to   withdraw  your 
own    design,"   he   asked,   somewhat   nervously, 


A   HARD   BARGAIN. 


191 


hardly  knowing  how  best  to  frame  his  delicate 
question,  ''do  you  think  ...  the  directors 
.    .    .    would  be  likely  to  accept  this  one  ?" 

Erasmus  Walker  hummed  and  hawed.  He 
twirled  his  fat  thumbs  round  one  another  in 
doubt.  7'hen  he  answered  oracularly,  "They 
might,  of  course;  and  yet,  again,  they  mightn't.' 

"  Upon  whom  would  the 
decision  rest?"  Tyrrel  inquired, 
looking  hard  at  him. 

"  Upon  me,  almost  entirely," 
the  great  engineer  responded 
at  once,  with  cheerful  frank- 
ness. "To  say  the  plain  truth, 
they've  no  minds  of  their  own, 
these  men.  They'd  ask  my  advice,  and  accept 
it  implicitly." 

*•  So  Jones  told  me,"  Tyrrel  answered. 

"  So  Jones  told  you  —  quite  right,"  the  engi- 
neer echoed,  with  a  complacent  nod.  "  They've 
no  minds  of  their  own,  you  see.  They'll  do  just 
as  I  tell  them." 

"And  you  think  this  design  of  Le  Neve's  a 
good  one,  both  mechanically  and  financially,  and 


192 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


also  exceptionally  safe  as  regards  the  lives  and 

limbs   of   passengers    and    employes?"    Tyrrel 

inquired  once  more,  with  anx- 
ious particularity.  His  tender 
conscience  made  him  afraid  to 
do  anything  in  the  matter  un- 
less he  was  quite  sure  in  his 
own    mind   he   was    doing    no 

wrong  in  any  way  either  to  shareholders,  com- 
petitors, or  the  public  generally. 

"My  dear  sir,"  Mr.  Walker  replied,  fingering 

the  papers  lovingly,   "  it^s  an  admirable  design 

—  sound,  cheap,  and  practical. 

It's  as  good  as  it  can  be.     To 

tell  you  the  truth,  I  admire  it 

immensely." 

"  Well,  then,"  Tyrrel  said  at 

last,  all  his  scruples  removed  — 

"let's  come  to  business.     I   put 

it    plainly.       How    much    will 

you  take  to  withdraw  your  own 

design,    and    to     throw     your 

weight   into   the   scale  in  favor  of  my  friend's 

here  ? " 


A   HARD   BARGAIN. 


193 


Erasmus  Walker  closed  one  eye,  and  re- 
garded  his  visitor  fixedly  out  of  the  ether  for  a 
minute  or  two  in  silence,  as  if  taking  his  bear- 
ings. It  was  a  trick  he  had  acquired  from  fre- 
quent use  of  a  theodolite.  Then  he  answered 
at  last,  after  a  long,  deep  pause,  "  It's  your 
deal,  Mr.  Tyrrel.  Make  me 
an  offer,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Five  thousand  pounds?" 
tremblingly  suggested  Walter 
Tyrrel. 

Erasmus  Walker  opened  his 
eye  slowly,  and  never  allowed 
his   surprise    to   be   visible  on 
his  face.     Why,  to  him,  a  job 
like  that,  entailing  loss  of  time 
in  personal  supervision,  was  hardly  worth  three. 
The  plans  were  perfunctory,  and  as  far  as  there 
was  anything  in  them,  could  be  used  again  else- 
where.      He   could   employ   his   precious   days 
meanwhile   to   better  purpose    in    some    more 
showy  and  profitable  work  than  this  half-hatched 
viaduct.     But  this  was  an  upset  price.     "Not 
enough,"    he    murmured,    slowly,    shaking?-    his 


194 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


bullet  head.     "  It's  a  fortune  to  the  young  man. 
You  must  make  a  better  offer." 

Walter  Tyrrel's  lip  quiv- 
ered. "  Six  thousand,''  he 
said,  promptly. 

The  engineer  judged  from 
the  promptitude  of  the  reply 
that  the  Cornish  landlord 
must  still  be  well  squeezable. 
He  shook  his  head  again. 
"  No,  no ;  not  enough,"  he 
answered  short.  "Not  enough 
—  by    a    long    way." 

"  Eight,"  Tyrrel  suggested, 
drawing  a  deep  breath  of  sus- 
pense. It  was  a  big  sum,  in- 
deed, for  a  modest  estate  like 
Penmorgan. 

The  engineer  shook  his  head 
once  more.  That  rush  up  two 
thousand  at  once  was  a  very 
good  feature.  The  man  who 
could  mount  by  two  thousand  at  a  time  might 
surely  be  squeezed  to  the  even  figure. 


A   HARD   BARGAIN. 


195 


"  Tm  afraid,"  Walter  said,  quivering,  after 
a  brief  mental  calculation  —  mortgage  at  four 
per  cent  —  and  agricultural  depression  running 
down  the  current  value  of  land  in  the  market  — 
•'  I  couldn't  by  any  possibility  go  beyond  ten 
thousand.  But  to  save  my  friend  —  and  to  get 
the  young  lady  married  —  I 
wouldn't  mind  going  as  far  as 
that  to  meet  you." 

The  engineer  saw  at  once, 
with  true  business  instinct,  his 
man  had  reached  the  end  of 
his  tether.  He  struck  while 
the  iron  was  hot  and  clinched 
the  bargain.  "  Well,  —  as 
there's  a  lady  in  the  case"  — 
he  said,  gallantly,  —  "  and  to  serve  a  young  man 
of  undoubted  talent,  who'll  do  honor  to  the  pro- 
fession, I  don't  mind  closing  with  you.  I'll  take 
ten  thousand,  money  down,  to  back  out  of  it 
myself,  and  I'll  say  what  I  can  —  honestly  —  to 
the  Midland  Board  in  your  friend's  favor." 

"Very   good,"   Tyrrel   answered,    drawing   a 
deep  breath   of   relief.     "  I   ask  no  more  than 


196 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


that.     Say  what  you  can  honestly.     The  money 

shall  be  paid  you  before  the  end  of  a  fortnight." 

"Only,  mind,"  Mr.  Walker 
added  in  an  impressive  after- 
thought, "  I  can't,  of  course, 
engage  that  the  Great  North 
Midland  people  will  take  my 
advice.  You  mustn't  come 
down  upon  me  for  restitution 
and  all  that  if  your  friend 
don't  succeed   and   they   take 

some  other  fellow.     All  I  guarantee  for  certain 

is   to   withdraw  my  own   plans  — 

not  to  send  in  anything  myself  for 

the  competition." 

"  I  fully  understand,"  Tyrrel  an- 
swered.    "And  I'm  content  to  risk 

it.     But,  mind,  if  any  other  design 

is  submitted  of  superior  excellence 

to  Le  Neve's,  I  wouldn't  wish  you 

on  any  account  to  —  to  do  or  say 

anything  that   goes  against  your 

conscience." 

Erasmus  Walker  stared  at  him.     "What  — 


A   HARD   BARGAIN.  197 

after  paying   ten   thousand   pounds?"  he  said, 
"  to  secure  the  job  ?" 

Tyrrel  nodded  a  solemn  nod.  "Especially," 
he  added,  "if  you  think  it  safer  to  life  and 
limb.  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  an 
accident  were  to  occur  on  Eustace  Le  Neve's 
viaduct." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ANGEL  AND  DEVIL. 

Tyrrel  left  Erasmus  Walker's  house  that 
morning  in  a  turmoil  of  mingled  exultation  and 
fear.     At  least  he  had  done  his  best  to  atone 

for  the  awful  results  of  his 
boyish  act  of  criminal  thought- 
lessness. He  hi^d  tried  to  make 
it  possible  for  Cleer  to  marry 
Eustace,  and  thereby  to  render 
the  Trevennacks  happier  in 
their  sonless  old  age ;  and  what 
was  more  satisfactory  still,  he 
had  crippled  himself  in  doing  it.  There  was 
comfort  even  in  that.  Expiation,  reparation ! 
He  wouldn't  have  cared  for  the  sacrifice  so  much 
if  it  had  cost  him  less.  But  it  would  cost  him 
dear  indeed.  He  must  set  to  work  at  once  now 
and  raise  the  needful  sum  by  mortgaging  Pen- 
morgan  up  to  the  hilt  to  do  it. 

(198) 


ANGEL  AND   DEVIL. 


199 


After  all,  of  course,  the  directors  might  choose 

some  other  design  than  Eustace's.     But  he  had 

.  ^^^^»  done  what  he  could.    And  he 

(IVMb  would  hope  for  the  best,  at 

^^^^  any  rate.     For  Cleer  s  sake, 

^^^L\        ^^  ^^^  worst  came,  he  would 

"^^  -    have   risked   and   lost  much. 

While  If  Cleer's  life  was 
made  happy,  he  would  be 
happy  in  the  thought  of  it. 
He  hailed  another  hansom, 
and  drove  off,  still  on  fire,  to  his  lawyers  in 
Victoria  Street.  On  the  way,  he  had  to  go  near 
Paddington  Station.  He  didn't  observe,  as  he 
did  so,  a  four-wheel  cab  that 
passed  him  with  luggage  on 
top,  from  Ivybridge  to  Lon- 
don. It  was  the  Trevennacks, 
just  returned  from  their  holi- 
day on  Dartmoor.  But  Mi~ 
chael  Trevennack  had  seen 
him ;  and  his  brow  grew  sud- 
denly dark.  He  pinched  his  nails  into  his  palm 
at  sight  of  that  hateful  creature,  though  not  a 


\ 


200 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


sound  escaped  him ;  for  Cleer  was  in  the  car- 
riage, and  the  man  was  Eustace's  friend.  Tre- 
vennack  accepted  Eustace  perforce,  after  that 
night  on  Michael's  Crag ;  for  he  knew  it  was 
politic;  and  indeed,  he  liked  the  young  man 
himself  well  enough  —  there  was  nothing  against 

him  after  all,  beyond  his 
friendship  with  Tyrrel ;  but 
had  it  not  been  for  the  need 
for  avoiding  scandal  after  the 
adventure  on  the  rock,  he 
would  never  have  allowed 
Cleer  to  speak  one  word  to 
any  friend  or  acquaintance  of 
her  brother's  murderer. 

As  it  was,  however,  he 
never  alluded  to  Tyrrel  in  any  way  before  Cleer. 
He  had  learnt  to  hold  his  tongue.  Madman 
though  he  was,  he  knew  when  to  be  silent. 

That  evening  at  home,  Cleer  had  a  visit  from 
Eustace,  who  came  round  to  tell  her  how  Tyrrel 
had  been  to  see  the  great  engineer,  Erasmus 
Walker;  and  how  it  was  all  a  mistake  that 
Walker  was  going   to  send  in    plans  for  the 


ANGEL   AND   DEVIL.  201 

Wharfedale   Viaduct  — nay,    how   the   bier   man 
had  approved  of  his  own  design,  and  promised 

to  give  it  all  the  support  in  his 
power.  For  Tyrrel  was  really 
an  awfully  kind  friend,  who 
had  pushed  things  for  him  like 
a  brick,  and  deserved  the  very 
best  they  could  both  of  them 
say  about  him. 

But  of  course  Eustace  hadn't 
the  faintest  idea  himself  by 
what  manner  of  persuasion 
Walter  Tyrrel  had  commended 
his  friend's  designs  to  Erasmus 
Walker.  If  he  had,  needless 
to  say,  he  would  never  have 
accepted  the  strange  arrange- 
ment. 

"And  now,  Cleer,"  Eustace 
cried,  jubilant  and  radiant  with 
the  easy  confidence  of  youth 
and  love,  "  I  do  believe  I  shall 
carry  the  field  at  last,  and  spring  at  a  bound  into 
a  first-rate  position  among  engineers  in  England." 


203  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

"And  then?"   Cleer  asked,  nestling  close  to 

his  side. 

"And  then,"  Eustace  went  on,  smiling  tacitly 
at  her  native  simplicity,  "as  it 
would  mean  permanent  work  in 
superintending  and  so  forth,  I  see 
no  reason  why — we  shouldn't  get 
married  immediately." 

They  were  alone  in  the  break- 
fast room,  where  Mrs.  Trevennack 
had  left  them.  They  were  alone, 
like  lovers.  But  in  the  drawing- 
room  hard  by,  Trevennack  himself 

was  saying  to  his  wife  with  a  face  of  suppressed 

excitement,  "  I  saw  him  again  to-day,  l^ucy.     I 

saw  him  again,  that  devil  —  in  a 

hansom  near  Paddington.     If  he 

stops  in  town,  I'm  sure  I  don't 

know  what   Pm  ever  to  do.     I 

came     back    from     Devonshire, 

having  fought  the  devil  hard,  as 

I  thought,  and  conquered  him.    I 

felt  I'd  got  him  under.     I  felt  he  was  no  match 

for  me.     But  when  I  see  that  man's  face  the 


ANGEL  AND  DEVIL. 


203 


devil  springs  up  at  me  again  in  full  force,  and 
grapples  with  me.  Is  he  Satan  himself?  I 
believe  he  must  be.  For  I  feel  I  must  rush  at 
him  and  trample  him  under  foot,  as  I  trampled 
him  long  ago  on  the  summit  of  Niphates." 

In  a  tremor  of  alarm  Mrs.  Trevennack  held 
his  hand.  Oh,  what  would 
she  ever  do  if  the  outbreak 
came  .  .  .  before  Cleer  was 
married !  She  could  see  the 
constant  strain  of  holding 
himself  back  was  growing 
daily  more  and  more  difficult 
for  her  unhappy  husband. 
Indeed,  she  couldn't  bear  it 
herself  much  longer.  If  Cleer 
didn't  marry  soon,  Michael  would  break  out 
openly  —  perhaps  would  try  to  murder  that  poor 
man  Tyrrel  —  and  then  Eustace  would  be  afraid, 
and  all  would  be  up  with  them. 

By  and  by,  Eustace  came  in  to  tell  them  the 
good  news.  He  said  nothing  about  Tyrrel,  at 
least  by  name,  lest  he  should  hurt  Trevennack ; 
he  merely  mentioned  that  a  friend  of  his  had 


204  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

seen  Erasmus  Walker  that  day,  and  that  Walker 
had  held  out  great  hopes  of  success  for  him  in 
this  Wharfedale  Viaduct  business.  Trevennack 
listened  with  a  strange  mixture  of  interest  and 
contempt.     He  was  glad  the  young   man  was 

likely  to  get  on  in  his  chosen 
profession  —  for  Cleer's  sake, 
if  it  would  enable  them  to 
marry.  But,  oh,  what  a  fuss 
it  seemed  to  him  to  make 
//  about  such  a  trifle  as  a  mere 
bit  of  a  valley  that  one  could 
fly  across  in  a  second  —  to 
him  who  could  become 

" .     .     .     to  his  proper  shape  returned 
A  seraph  winged:  six  wings  he  wore,  to  shade 
His  lineaments  divine;  the  pair  that  clad 
Each  shoulder  broad,  came  mantling  o'er  his  breast 
With  regal  ornament;  the  middle  pair 
Girt  like  a  starry  zone  his  waist,  and  round 
Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs,  the  third  his  feet 
Shadowed  from  either  heel  with  feathered  mail." 

And  then  they  talked  to  him  about  the  diffi- 
culties of  building  a  few  hundred  yards  of  iron 


ANGEL  AND  DEVIL.  205 

bridge  across  a  miserable  valley!  Why,  was  it 
not  he  and  his  kind  of  whom  it  was  written  that 

they  came 

"  Gliding  through  the  even 
On  a  sunbeam,  swift  as  a  shooting  star 
In  autumn  thwarts  the  night  ?" 

A  viaduct  indeed!  a  paltry  human 
viaduct!  What  need,  with  such 
as  him,  to  talk  of  bridges  or 
viaducts  ? 

As  Eustace  left  that  evening, 
Mrs.  Trevennack  followed  him 
out,  and  beckoned  him  mysteriously  into  the 
dining-room  at  the  side  for  a  minute's  conversa- 
tion. The  young  man  followed 
her,  much  wondering  what  this 
strange  move  could  mean. 
Mrs.  Trevennack  fell  back, 
half  faint,  into  a  chair,  and 
gazed  at  him  with  a  frightened 
look  very  rare  on  that  brave 
face  of  hers.  "Oh,  Eustace," 
she  said,  hurriedly,  "do  you  know  what's  hap- 
pened ?  Mr.  TyrrePs  in  town.     Michael  saw  him 


206 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


to-day.    He  was  driving  near  Paddington.    Now 
do  you  think  .   .   .    you  could  do  anything  to 

keep  him  out  of  Michael's  way? 
1  dread  their  meeting.  I  don't 
know  whether  you  know  it, 
but  Michael  has  some  grudge 
against  him.  For  Cleer's  sake 
and  for  yours,  do  keep  them 
apart,  I  beg  of  you.  If  they 
meet,  I  can't  answer  for  what 
harm  may  come  of  it." 

Eustace  was  taken  aback  at  her  unexpected 
words.  Not  even  to  Cleer  had  he  ever  hinted 
in  any  way  at  the  strange  disclosure  Walter 
Tyrrel  made  to  him  that  first 
day  at  Penmorgan.  He  hes- 
itated how  to  answer  her 
without  betraying  his  friend's 
secret.  At  last  he  said,  as 
calmly  as  he  could,  "  I 
guessed,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  there  was  some  cause 
of  quarrel.  I'll  do  my  very  best  to  keep  Tyrrel 
out  of  the  way,  Mrs.  Trevennack,  as  you  wish  it. 


ANGEL  AND   DEVIL.  207 

But  I'm  afraid  he  won't  be  going  down  from 
town  for  some  time  to  come,  for  he  told  me  only 
to-day  he  had  business  at  his  lawyer's,  in 
Victoria  Street,  Westminster,  which  might  keep 
him  here  a  fortnight.  Indeed,  I  rather  doubt 
whether  he'll  care  to  go  down  again  until  he 
knows  for  certain,  one  way  or 
the  other,  about  the  Wharfe- 
dale  Viaduct." 

Mrs.  Trevennack  sank  back 
in  her  chair,  very  pale  and  wan. 
"  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  if  they 
meet  ?"  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands  in  despair.  "What  shall 
we  do  if  they  meet?  This  is 
more  than  I  can  endure.  Eus- 
tace, Eustace,  I  shall  break  down.  My  burden's 
too  heavy  for  me !  " 

The  young  man  leant  over  her  like  a  son. 
"  Mrs.  Trevennack,"  he  said,  gently,  smoothing 
her  silvery  white  hair  with  sympathetic  fingers, 
"  I  think  I  can  keep  them  apart.  I'll  speak 
seriously  to  Tyrrel  about  it.  He's  a  very  good 
fellow,  and  he'll  do  anything  1  ask  of  him.     I'm 


208  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

sure  he'll  try  to  avoid  falling  in  with  your  hus- 
band.    He's  my  kindest  of  friends  ;  and  he'd  cut 

off  his  hand  to  serve  me." 

One  word  of  sympathy 
brought  tears  into  Mrs.  Tre- 
vennack's  eyes.  She  looked 
up  through  them,  and  took  the 
young  man's  hand  in  hers.  "  It 
was  he  who  spoke  to  Erasmus 
Walker,  I  suppose,"  she  mur- 
mured, slowly. 

And  Eustace,  nodding  assent,  answered  in  a 
low  voice,  "It  was  he,  Mrs.  Trevennack.  He's 
a  dear  good  fellow." 

The  orphaned  mother  clasped 
her  hands.  This  was  too,  too 
much.  And  Michael,  if  the  fit 
came  upon  him,  would  strangle 
that  young  man,  who  was  doing 
his  best  after  all  for  Cleer  and 
Eustace ! 

But  that  night  in  his  bed  Tre- 
vennack  lay    awake,    chuckling 
grimly  to  himself  in  an  access  of  mad  triumph. 
He  fancied  he  was  fighting  his  familiar  foe,  on  a 


ANGEL   AND  DEVIL. 


209 


tall  Cornish  peak,  in  archangelic  fashion ;  and  he 

had  vanquished  his  enemy,  and  was  trampling 

on   him    furiously.       But  the 

face  of  the  fallen  seraph  was 

not  the  face  of  Michael  An- 

gelo's   Satan,   as   he   oftenest 

figured  it  —  for  Michael  An- 

gelo,   his   namesake,  was  one 

of  Trevennack's  very  chiefest 

admirations ;  —  it  was  the  face 

of  Walter  Tyrrel,  who  killed 

his  dear  boy,  writhing  horribly  in  the  dust,  and 

crying  for  mercy  beneath  him. 


14 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AT  arm's  length. 

For  three  or  four  weeks  Walter  Tyrrel 
remained  in  town,  awaiting  the  result  of  the 
Wharfedale  Viaduct  competition.  With  some 
difficulty  he  raised  and  paid  over 
meanwhile  to  Erasmus  Walker  the 
ten  thousand  pounds  of  blackmail 
—  for  it  was  little  else  —  agreed 
upon  between  them.  The  great 
engineer  accepted  the  money  with 
as  little  compunction  as  men  who 
earn  large  incomes  always  display 
in  taking  payment  for  doing  noth- 
ing. It  is  an  enviable  state  of 
mind,  unattainable  by  most  of  us  who  work  hard 
for  our  living.  He  pocketed  his  check  with  a 
smile,  as  if  it  were  quite  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  ten  thousand  pounds  should  drop  upon  him 

(210) 


AT  ARM'S   LENGTH.  211 

from  the  clouds  without  rhyme  or  reason.  To 
Tyrrel,  on  the  other  hand,  with  his  sensitive 
conscience,  the  man's  greed  and  callousness 
seemed  simply  incomprehensible.  He  stood 
aghast  at  such  sharp  practice.  But  for  Cleer's 
sake,  and  to  ease  his  own  soul,  he  paid  it  all 
over  without  a  single  murmur. 

And  then  the  question  came 
up  in  his  mind,  "Would  it 
be  effectual  after  all  ?    Would 


Ifcff^ 


Walker  play  him  false  ?  Would    ^^^K\^p^ 
he   throw   the   weight    of    his    "^  v  - 

influence  into  somebody  else's  ^  ^^ 
scale  ?  Would  the  directors  submit  as  tamely  as 
he  thought  to  his  direction  or  dictation?"  It 
would  be  hard  on  Tyrrel  if,  after  his  spending 
ten  thousand  pounds  without  security  of  any 
sort,  Eustace  were  to  miss  the  chance,  and  Cleer 
to  go  unmarried. 

At  the  end  of  a  month,  however,  as  Tyrrel  sat 
one  morning  in  his  own  room  at  the  Metropole, 
which  he  mostly  frequented,  Eustace  Le  Neve 
rushed  in,  full  of  intense  excitement.  TyrrePs 
heart  rose  in  his  mouth.     He  grew  pale  with 


212 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


agitation.     The  question  had  been  decided  one 

way  or  the  other  he  saw. 

"Well;  which  is  it?"  he 
gasped  out.  "Hit  or  miss? 
Have  you  got  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  IVegotit!"  Eustace 
answered,  half  beside  himself 
with  delight.  I've  got  it!  IVe 
got  it !  The  chairman  and 
Walker  have  just  been  round 
to  call  on  me,  and  congratulate 
me    on    my    success.      Walker 

says  my  fortune's  made.     It's 

a  magnificent  design.     And  in 

any  case  it'll  mean  work  for 

me  for  the  next   four  years; 

after  which  I'll  not  want  for 

occupation  elsewhere.  So  now, 

of  course,  I  can  marry  almost 

immediately." 

"Thank  God  !"  Tyrrel  mur- 
mured, falling   back   into   his 

chair  as  he  spoke,  and  turning  deadly  white. 
He  was  glad  of  it,  oh,  so  glad ;  and  yet,  in  his 


AT  ARM'S  LENGTH. 


213 


own  heart,  it  would  cost  him  many  pangs  to  see 
Cleer  really  married  in  good  earnest  to  Eustace. 
He  had  worked  for  it  with  all  his 
might  to  be  sure  ;  he  had  worked  for  it 
and  paid  for  it !  and  now  he  saw  his 
wishes  on  the  very  eve  of  fulfillment, 
the  natural  man  within  him  rose  up  in 
revolt  against  the  complete  success  of 
his  own  unselfish  action. 

As  for  Mrs.  Trevennack,  when  she 
heard  the  good  news,  she  almost 
fainted  with  joy.  It  might  yet  be  in 
time.  Cleer  might  be  married  now  before  poor 
Michael  broke  forth  in  that  in- 
evitable paroxysm. 

For  inevitable  she  felt  it  was 
at  last.  As  each  day  went  by  it 
grew  harder  and  harder  for  the 
man  to  contain  himself.  Fight- 
ing desperately  against  it  every 
hour,  immersing  himself  as  much 
as  he  could  in  the  petty  fiddling 
details  of  the  office  and  the  Victualing  Yard  so 
as  to  keep  the  fierce  impulse  under  due  control, 


214  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

Mkhael  Trevennack  yet  found  the  mad  mood 
within  him  more  and  more  ungovernable  with 
each  week  that  went  by.  As  he  put  it  to  his 
own  mind  he  could  feel  his  wings  growing  as  if 
they  must  burst  through  the  skin  ;  he  could  feel 
it  harder  and  ever  harder  as  time  went  on  to 
conceal  the  truth,   to  pretend   he  was   a   mere 

man,  when  he  knew  himself 
to  be  really  the  Prince  of 
the  Archangels,  to  busy  him- 
self about  contracts  for  pork, 
and  cheese,  and  biscuits, 
when  he  could  wing  his  way 
boldly  over  sea  and  land,  or 
stand  forth  before  the  world 
in  gorgeous  gear,  armed  as  of  yore  in  the 
adamant  and  gold  of  his  celestial  panoply  ! 

So  Michael  Trevennack  thought  in  his  own 
seething  soul.  But  that  strong,  brave  woman, 
his  wife,  bearing  her  burden  unaided,  and  watch- 
ing him  closely  day  and  night  with  a  keen  eye 
of  mingled  love  and  fear,  could  see  that  the 
madness  was  gaining  on  him  gradually.  Oftener 
and  oftener   now    did   he  lose  himself    in   his 


AT   ARM'S   LENGTH. 


215 


imagined  world ;  less  and  less  did  he  tread  the 
solid  earth  beneath  us.      Mrs.  Trevennack  had 

by  this  time  but  one  anxious 
care  left  in  life  —  to  push  on 
as  fast  as  possible  Cleer  and 
Eustace's  marriage. 

But  difficulties  intervened,  as 
they  always  will  intervene  in 
this  work-a-day  world  of  ours. 
First  of  all  there  were  formal- 
ities about  the  appointment 
itself.  Then,  even  when  all  was 
arranged,  Eustace  found  he  had  to  go  north  in 
person,  shortly  after  Christmas,  and  set  to  work 
with  a  will  at  putting  his  plan 
into  practical  shape  for  con- 
tractor and  workmen.  And  as 
soon  as  he  got  there  he  saw  at 
once  he  must  stick  at  it  for  six 
months  at  least  before  he  could 
venture  to  take  a  short  holiday 
for  the  sake  of  getting  married. 
Engineering  is  a  very  absorbing  trade;  it  keeps 
a  man  day  and  night  at  the  scene  of  his  labors. 


216 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Storm  or  flood  at  any  moment  may  ruin  every- 
thing.      It    would     be    prudent    too,    Eustace 

thought,  to  have  laid  by  a  little 
more  for  household  expenses,  be- 
fore plunging  into  the  unknown 
sea  of  matrimony ;  and  though 
Mrs.  Trevennack,  flying  full  in 
the  face  of  all  matronly  respect 
for  foresight  in  young  people, 
urged  him  constantly  to  marry, 
money  or  no  money,  and  never  mind  about  a 
honeymoon,  Eustace  stuck  to  his  point  and 
determined  to  take  no  decisive 
step  till  he  saw  how  the  work 
was  turning  out  in  Wharfe- 
dale.  It  was  thus  full  August 
of  the  succeeding  year  before 
he  could  fix  a  date  definitely; 
and  then,  to  Cleer^s  great  joy, 
he  named  a  day  at  last,  about 
the  beginning  of  September. 

It  was  an  immense  relief  to 
Mrs.  Trevennack's  mind  when,  after  one  or  two 
alterations,  she  knew  the  third  was  finally  fixed 


AT   ARM'S  LENGTH.  217 

upon.  She  had  good  reasons  of  her  own  for 
wishing  it  to  be  early;  for  the  twenty-ninth  is 
Michaelmas  Day,  and  it  was  always  with  difficulty 
that  her  husband  could  be  prevented  from  break- 
ing out  before  the  eyes  of  the  world  on  that 
namesake  feast  of  St.  Michael  and  All  Angels. 
For,  on  that  sacred  day,  when  in  every  Church 
in  Christendom  his  importance 
as  the  generalissimo  of  the 
angelic  host  was  remembered 
and  commemorated,  it  seemed 
hard  indeed  to  the  seraph  in 
disofuise  that  he  must  still 
guard  his  incognito,  still  go 
on  as  usual  with  his  petty 
higgling  over  corned  beef  and  biscuits  and  the 
price  of  jute  sacking.  "  There  was  war  in 
heaven,"  said  the  gospel  for  the  day  —  that 
sonorous  gospel  Mrs.  Trevennack  so  cordially 
dreaded  —  for  her  husband  would  always  go  to 
church  at  morning  service,  and  hold  himself 
more  erect  than  was  his  wont,  to  hear  it  — 
"There  was  war  in  heaven;  Michael  and  his 
angels   fought    against    the    dragon ;    and   the 


218 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


dragon  fought  and  his  angels,  and  prevailed 
not."  And  should  he,  who  could  thus  battle 
against  all  the  powers  of  evil,  be  held  in  check 
any  longer,  as  with  a  leash  of  straw,  by  the 
Lords  Commissioners  of  the  Admiralty?  No, 
no,  he  would    stand   forth    in    his   true  angelic 

shape,  and  show  these  martinets 
what  form  they  had  ignorantly 
taken  for  mere  Michael  Treven- 
nack  of  the  Victualing  Depart- 
ment! 

One  thing  alone  eased  Mrs. 
Trevennack's  mind  through  all 
those  weary  months  of  waiting 
and  watching :  Walter  Tyrrel 
had  long  since  gone  back  again  to  Penmorgan. 
Her  husband  had  been  free  from  that  greatest 
of  all  temptations,  to  a  mad  paroxysm  of  rage  — 
the  sight  of  the  man  who,  as  he  truly  believed, 
had  killed  their  Michael.  And  now,  if  only 
Tyrrel  would  keep  away  from  town  till  Cleer 
was  married  and  all  was  settled  —  Mrs.  Treven- 
nack  sighed  deep  —  she  would  almost  count  her- 
self a  happy  woman  ! 


AT   ARM'S   LENGTH. 


219 


On  the  day  of  Cleer's  wedding,  however,  Wal- 
ter Tyrrel  came  to  town.  He  came  on  purpose. 
He  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  of  seeing  with 
his  O'vn  eyes  the  final  success  of  his  general 
plan,  even  though  it  cost  him  the  pang  of  watch- 
ing the  marriage  of  the  one 
girl  he  ever  truly  loved  to 
another  man  by  his  own 
deliberate  contrivance.  But 
he  didn't  forget  Eustace  Le 
Neve's  earnest  warning,  that 
he  should  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  Michael  Trevennack. 
Even  without  Eustace,  his 
own  conscience  would  have 
urged  that  upon  him.  The  constant  burden  of 
his  remorse  for  that  boyish  crime  weighed  hard 
upon  him  every  hour  of  every  day  that  he  lived. 
He  didn't  dare  on  such  a  morning  to  face  the 
father  of  the  boy  he  had  unwittingly  and  half- 
innocently  murdered. 

So,  very  early,  as  soon  as  the  church  was 
opened,  he  stole  in  unobserved,  and  took  a  place 
by  himself  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  gallery. 


220 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


A  pillar  concealed  him  from  view ;   for  further 
security  he  held  his  handkerchief  constantly  in 

front  of  his  face,  or  shielded 
^^  himself  behind  one  of  the  big 

.kip^.  free-seat  prayer-books.     Cleer 

B^H^^^  came  in  looking  beautiful  in 
^H^^^^  her  wedding  dress;  Mrs.  Tre- 
^^^l  vennack's  pathetic  face  glowed 
"^""^^  radiant  for  once  in  this  final 
,  if  realization  of  her  dearest 
wishes.  A  single  second  only, 
near  the  end  of  the  ceremony, 
Tyrrel  leaned  forward  incautiously,  anxious  to 
see  Cleer  at  an  important 
point  of  the  proceedings.  At 
xhd  very  same  instant  Treven- 
nack  raised  his  face.  Their 
eyes  met  in  a  flash.  Tyrrel 
drew  back,  horrorstruck,  and 
penitent  at  his  own  intrusion 
at  such  a  critical  moment. 
But,  strange  to  say,  Treven- 
nack  took  no  overt  notice. 
Had  his  wife  only  known  she  would  have  sunk 


AT  ARM'S  LENGTH.  221 

in  her  seat  in  her  agony  of  fear.  But  happily 
she  didn't  know.  Trevennack  went  through  the 
ceremony,  all  outwardly  calm ;  he  gave  no  sign 
of  what  he  had  seen,  even  to  his  wife  herself. 
He  buried  it  deep  in  his  own  heart.  That 
made  it  nil  the  more  dangerous. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

■ 

ST.   MICHAEL    DOES    BATTLE. 

The  wedding  breakfast  went  off  pleasantly, 
without  a  hitch  of  any  sort.  Trevennack,  always 
dignified  and  always  a  grand  seign- 
eur^ rose  to  the  occasion  with  his 
happiest  spirit.  The  silver-haired 
wife,  gazing  up  at  him,  felt  proud 
of  him  as  of  old,  and  was  for  once 
quite  at  her  ease.  For  all  was  over 
now,  thank  heaven,  and  dear  Cleer 
was  married  ! 

That  same  afternoon  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  started  off  for  their 
honeymoon  to  the  Tyrol  and  Italy.  When  Mrs. 
Trevennack  was  left  alone  with  her  husband  it 
was  with  a  thankful  heart.  She  turned  to  him, 
flowing  over  in  soul  with  joy.  "  Oh,  Michael," 
she  cried,  melting,  "  I'm  so  happy,  so  happy,  so 
happy." 


ST.   MICHAEL  DOES  BATTLE. 


223 


Trevennack    stooped  down    and    kissed   her 
forehead  tenderly.     He  had  always  been  a  good 

husband,  and  he  loved  her  with 
all  his  heart.  "  That's  well, 
Lucy,"  he  answered.  "  Thank 
God,  it's  all  over.  For  I  can't 
hold  out  much  longer.  The 
strain's  too  much  for  me."  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  looked 
at  her.  "Lucy,"  he  said,  once 
more,  clasping  his  forehead  with 
one  hand,  ''I've  fought  against 
it  hard.  I'm  fighting  against  it  still.  But  at 
times  it  almost  gets  the  better  of 
me.  Do  you  know  who  I  saw  in 
the  church  this  morning,  skulking 
behind  a  pillar?  —  that  man  Wal- 
ter Tyrrel." 

Mrs.  Trevennack  gazed  at  him 
all  aghast.  This  was  surely  a  delu- 
sion, a  fixed  idea,  an  insane  halluci- 
nation. "  Oh,  no,  dear,"  she  cried, 
prying  deep  into  his  eyes.  "  It 
couldn't  be  he,  it  couldn't.     You  must  be  mis- 


224 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


taken,  Michael.  I'm  sure  he's  not  in  London." 
"No  more  mistaken  than  I  am  this  minute," 
Trevennack  answered,  rushing 
over  to  the  window,  and  pointing 
with  one  hand  eagerly.  "  See,  see ! 
there  he  is,  Lucy  —  the  man  that 
killed  our  poor,  dear  Michael !" 

Mrs.  Trevennack  uttered  a  little 
cry,  half  sob,  half  wail,  as  she 
looked  out  of  the  window  and, 
under  the  gas-lamps  opposite,  rec- 
ognized through  the  mist  the 
form  of  Walter  Tyrrel. 
But  Trevennack  didn't  rush  out  at  him  as  she 

feared  and  believed  he  would.     He  only  stood 

still  in  his  place  and  glared  at 

his    enemy.      "  Not    now,"    he 

said,    slowly ;     '*  not    now,   on 

Cleer's  wedding  day.    But  some 

other  time  —  more  suitable.      I 

hear    it    in    my   ears      I    hear 

the   voice   still   ringing :    *  Go, 

Michael,    of   celestial   armies   prince!*     I    can't 

disobey.     I  shall  go  in  due  time.     I  shall  fight 

the  enemy." 


ST.    MICHAEL   DOES    BATTLE. 


225 


And  he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  with  his  eyes 
staring  wildly. 

For  the  next  week  or  two,  while  Cleer  wrote 
home  happy  letters  from  Paris,  Innsbruck,  Milan, 
Venice,  Florence,  poor  Mrs.  Trcvennack  was 
tortured  inwardly  with  another  terrible  doubt; 
had  Michael's  state   become   so  -.  ..   ^ 

dangerous  at  last  that  he  must  i^^^B?^^ 
be  put  under  restraint  as  a  ^^^M^nJiSr 
measure  of  public  security?  For  \  '^^ 
Walter  Tyrrel's  sake,  ought  she  ^^ 
to  make  his  condition  known  to  ^^l^ 
the  world  at  large  —  and  spoil  ^ 
Cleer's  honeymoon  ?  She  shrank 
from  that  final  necessity  with  a  deadly  shrinking. 
Day  after  day  she  put  the  discovery  off,  and 
solaced  her  soul  with  the  best  intentions  —  as 
what  true  woman  would  not? 

But  we  know  where  good  intentions  go.  On 
the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth,  which  is 
Michaelmas  Day,  the  poor  mother  rose  in  fear 
and  trembling.  Michael,  to  all  outward  appear- 
ance, was  as  sane  as  usual.  He  breakfasted 
and  went  down  to  the  office,  as  was  his  wont. 

15 


226  MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 

When  he  arrived  there,  however,  he  found 
letters  from  Falmouth  awaiting  him  with  bad 
news.  His  presence  was  needed  at  once.  He 
must  miss  his  projected  visit  to  St.  Michael's, 
Cornhill.  He  must  go  down  to  Cornwall. 
Hailing  a  cab  at  the  door  he  hastened  back 
to  Paddington  just  in  time  for  the 
Cornish  express.  This  was  surely 
a  call.  The  words  rang  in  his 
ears  louder  and  clearer  than  ever, 
"Go,  Michael,  of  celestial  armies 
prince!"  He  would  go  and  obey 
them.  He  would  trample  under 
foot  this  foul  fiend  that  masquer- 
aded in  human  shape  as  his  dear 
boy's  murderer.  He  would  wield 
once  more  that  huge  two-handed  sword,  bran- 
dished aloft,  wide-wasting,  in  unearthly  warfare. 
He  would  come  out  in  his  true  shape  before 
heaven  and  earth  as  the  chief  of  the  archangels. 
Stepping  into  a  first-class  compartment  he 
found  himself,  unluckily  for  his  present  mood, 
alone.  All  the  way  down  to  Exeter  the  fit  was 
on  him.     He  stood  up  in  the  carriage,  swaying 


ST.   MICHAEL   DOES  BATTLE. 


227 


his    unseen    blade,    celestial    temper    fine,    and 
J  rolling  forth   in    a   loud  voice 

Miltonic  verses  of  his  old  en- 
counters in  heaven  with  the 
powers  of  darkness. 

"  Now  waved  their  fiery  swords,  and 

in  the  air 
Made  horrid  circles;  two  broad  suns 

their  shields 
Blazed  opposite,  while  expectation 

stood 
In  horror." 

He  mouthed  out  the  lines  in  a  perfect  ecstasy 

of  madness.     It  was  delightful 

to   be   alone.     He   could   give 

his  soul    full   vent.     He   knew 

he  was  mad.     He  knew  he  was 

an  archangel. 

And  all  the  way  down  he  re- 
peated to  himself,  many  times 
over,  that  he  would  trample 
under  foot  that  base  fiend  Wal- 
ter Tyrrel.  Satan  has  many 
disguises ;  squat  like  a  toad,  close  at  the  ear  of 
Eve,  he  sat  in  Paradise ;  for 


228  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

"...   spirits  as  they  please 

Can  limb  themselves,  and  color,  or  size  assume 

As  likes  them  best,  condense  or  rare." 

If  he  himself,  Michael,  prince  of  celestial  hosts, 
could  fit  his  angelic  majesty  to  the  likeness  of  a 
man,  Trevennack  —  could  not  Satan  meet  him 

on  his  own  ground,  and  try  to 
thwart  him  as  of  old  in  the 
likeness  of  a  man,  Walter  Tyr- 
rel  —  his  dear  boy's  murderer. 
As  far  as  Exeter  this  was  his 
one  train  of  thought.  But  from 
there  to  Plymouth  new  passen- 
gers got  in.  They  turned  the 
current.  Trevennack  changed 
his  mind  rapidly.  Another  mood  came  over 
him.  His  wife's  words  struck  him  vaguely  in 
some  tenderer  place.  "Fight  the  A^VA  within 
you,  Michael.  Fight  him  there,  and  conquer 
him."  That  surely  was  fitter  far  for  an  angelic 
nature.  That  foeman  was  worthier  his  celestial 
steel.  "Turn  homeward,  angel,  now,  and  melt 
with  ruth!"  Not  his  to  do  vengeance  on  the 
man  Walter  Tyrrel.     Not  his  to  play  the  divine 


ST.   MICHAEL   DOES   BATTLE. 


229 


part  of  vindicator.     In    his    madness  even  Tre- 
vennack  was  magnanimous.     Leave  the  creature 

to  the  torment  of  his  own 
guilty  soul.  Do  angels  care  for 
thrusts  of  such  as  he  ?  Tantcune 
animis  cccleslibiis  ircc  ? 

At  Ivybridge  station  the  train 
slowed,  and  then  stopped.  Tre- 
vennack,  accustomed  to  the 
Cornish  express,  noted  the 
stoppage  with  surprise.  "We're  not  down  to 
pull  up  here!"  he  said,  quickly,  to  the  guard. 

"No  sir,"  the  guard  answered, 
touching  his  hat  with  marked 
respect,  for  he  knew  the  Admi- 
ralty official  well.  "  Signals  are 
against  us.  Line's  blocked  as  far 
as  Plymouth." 

"I'll  get  out  here,  then,"  Tre- 
vennack  said,  in  haste ;  and  the 
guard  opened  the  door.  A  new 
idea  had  rushed  suddenly  into  the 
madman's  head.  This  was  St.  MichaePs  Day  — 
his  own  day  ;  and  there  was  St.  Michael's  Tor  — 


i 


230 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


his  own  tor  —  full  in  sight  before  him.  He 
would  go  up  there  this  very  evening,  and  before 
the  eyes  of  all  the  world,  in  his  celestial  armor, 
taking  Lucy's  advice,  do  battle  with  and  quell 
this  fierce  devil  within  him. 

No  sooner  thought  than  done.  Fiery  hot 
within,  he  turned  out  of  the  gate, 
and  as  the  shades  of  autumn 
evening  began  to  fall,  walked 
swiftly  up  the  moor  toward  the 
tor  and  the  uplands. 

As  he  walked  his  heart  beat 
to  a  lilting  rhythm  within  him. 
**  Go,  Michael,  of  celestial  armies 
prince  !  —  Go,  Michael !  —  Go, 
Michael !  Go,  Michael,  of  celestial  armies 
prince  —  Go,    Michael! — Go,    Michael!" 

The  moor  was  draped  in  fog.  It  was  a  still, 
damp  evening.  Swirling  clouds  rose  slowly  up, 
and  lifted  at  times  and  disclosed  the  peaty  hol- 
lows, the  high  tors,  the  dusky  heather.  But 
Trevennack  stumbled  on,  o'er  bog  or  steep, 
through  strait,  rough,  dense,  or  rare,  as  chance 
might  lead  him,   clambering   ever   toward    his 


ST.    MICHAEL   DOES   BATTLE. 


231 


goal,  now  seen,  now  invisible  —  the  great  stack 
of  wild  rock  that  crowned  the  gray  undulating 

moor  to  northward.  Often 
he  missed  his  way ;  often  he 
floundered  for  awhile  in  deep 
ochreous  bottoms,  up  to  his 
knees  in  soft  slush,  but  with 
some  strange  mad  instinct 
he  wandered  on  nevertheless, 
and  slowly  drew  near  the 
high  point  he  was  aiming  at. 
By  this  time  it  was  pitch 
dark.  The  sun  had  set  and  fog  obscured  the 
starlight.  But  Trevennack,  all 
on  fire,  wandered  madly  for- 
ward and  scaled  the  rocky  tor 
by  the  well-known  path,  guided 
not  by  sight,  but  by  pure  in- 
stinctive groping.  In  his  pres- 
ent exalted  state,  indeed,  he 
had  no  need  of  eyes.  What 
matters  earthly  darkness  to 
angelic  feet?  He  could  pick 
his  own  way  through  the  gloom,  though  all  the 


232  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

fiends    from    hell     in     serried    phalanx    broke 

A  ^^         loose     to     thwart     him.       He 

^^^^3|p        would  reach   the   top   at   last; 

^H^^       reach  the  top ;   reach  the  top, 

^^Vm       and  there  fight   that   old  ser- 

^^H  B       pent  who  lay  in  wait  to  destroy 

^w^M  him.     At    last   he   gained   the 

^     ■  peak,  and  stood  with  feet  firmly 

I       ■  planted    on    the     little     rocky 

rj^- w  platform.     Now,    Satan,    come 

^■•^^       ^    on !     Ha,  traitor,  come,  if  you 
dare !     Your    antagonist    is   ready    for   you ! 

Cr'r'r'k !  as  he  stood  there,     '•      ;"""-     "*'"^ *>■' 

waiting,     a      terrible      shock 
brought  him  to  himself  all  at 
once  with    startling    sudden- 
ness.    Trevennack  drew  back    ■ 
aghast    and    apalled.      Even    j 
in    his    mad    exaltation    this    j 
strange      assault     astonished 
him.     He    had     expected    a    , 
struggle,  indeed ;  he  had  ex-    j  .        ^     ^     ^ 
pected  a  conflict,  but  with  a    ^ 
spiritual  foe ;  to  meet  his  adversary  in  so  bodily 


ST.  MICHAEL  DOES  BATTLE. 


233 


a  form  as  this,  wholly  startled  and  surprised  him. 
For  it  was  a  fierce  earthly  shock  he  received 
upon  his  right  leg  as  he  mounted  the  rocky  plat- 
form. Satan  had  been  lying  in  wait  for  him 
then,  expecting  him,  waylaying  him,  and  in  cor- 
poreal presence  too.  For  this  was  a  spear  of 
good  steel !  This  was  a  solid 
Thing  that  assaulted  him  as 
he  rose  —  assaulted  him  with 
frantic  rage  and  uncontrollable 
fury  ! 

For  a  moment  Trevennack 
was  stunned — the  sharpness  of 
the  pain  and  the  suddenness 
of  the  attack  took  both  breath 
and  sense  away  from  him.  He  stood  there  one 
instant,  irresolute,  before  he  knew  how  to  com- 
port himself.  But  before  he  could  make  up  his 
mind  —  crV'k,  a  second  time  — the  Presence  had 
assailed  him  again,  fighting  with  deadly  force, 
and  in  a  white  heat  of  frenzy.  Trevennack  had 
no  leisure  to  think  what  this  portent  might 
mean.  Man  or  fiend,  it  was  a  life-and-death 
struggle  now  between  them.     He  stood  face  to 


234 


MICHAEL'S   CRAG. 


face  at  last  in  mortal  conflict  with  his  material- 
ized enemy.  What  form  the  Evil  Thing  had 
assumed  to  suit  his  present  purpose  Trevennack 
knew  not,  nor  did  he  even  care.  Stung  with 
pain  and  terror  he  rushed  forward  blindly  upon 
his  enraged  assailant,  and  closed  with   him   at 

once,    tooth   and   nail,    in    a 
deadly  grapple. 

A  more  terrible  battle  man 
and  brute  never  fought.  Tre- 
vennack had  no  sword,  no 
celestial  panoply.  But  he 
could  wrestle  like  a  Cornish- 
man.  He  must  trample  his 
foe  under  foot,  then,  in  this 
final  struggle,  by  sheer  force  of  strong  thews 
and  strained  muscles  alone.  He  fought  the 
Creature  as  it  stood,  flinging  his  arms  round  it 
wildly.  The  Thing  seemed  to  rear  itself  as  if 
on  cloven  hoofs.  Trevennack  seized  it  round 
the  waist,  and  grasping  it  hard  in  an  iron  grip, 
clung  to  it  with  all  the  wild  energy  of  madness. 
Yield,  Satan,  yield !  But  still  the  Creature 
eluded  him.     Once  more  it  drew  back  a  pace  — 


ST.   MICHAEL   DOES   BATTLE. 


235 


he  felt  its  hot  breath,  he  smelt  its  hateful  smell  — 
and  prepared  to  rush  again  at  him.    Trevennack 
^^^^^  bent  down    to   receive    its  at- 

J^^HUB^  tack,  crouching.  The  Creat- 
ure burst  full  tilt  on  him — it 
almost  threw  him  over.  Tre- 
vennack caught  it  in  his  hor- 
ror and  awe  —  caught  it  bodily 
by  the  horns  —  for  horned  it 
seemed  to  be,  as  well  as  cloven- 
footed —  and  by  sheer  force  of 
arm  held  it  off  from  him  an  elbow's  length  one 
minute.  The  Thing  struggled  and  reared  again. 
Yes,  yes,  it  was  Satan  —  he  felt 
him  all  over  now  —  a  devil  un- 
disguised—  but  Satan  rather  in 
medieval  than  in  Miltonic  fash- 
ion. His  skin  was  rough  and 
hairy  as  a  satyr's  ;  his  odor  was 
foul;  his  feet  were  cleft;  his 
horns  sharp  and  terrible.  He 
flung  him  from  him  horrified.    "^ 

Quick  as  lightning  the  demon  rose  again,  and 
tilted  fiercely  at  him  once  more.     It  was  a  death 


23f) 


michap:l's  crag. 


fight  between  those  two  for  that  rocky  platform. 
Should  Satan  thus  usurp  St.  Michael's  Tor? 
Ten   thousand   times,    no!     Yield,    yield!      No 

surrender!  Each  knew  the 
ground  well,  and  even  in  the 
dark  and  in  the  mad  heat 
of  the  conflict,  each  carefully 
avoided  the  steep  edge  of  the 
precipice.  But  the  fiend  knew  it  best,  appar- 
ently. He  had  been  lying  in  a  snug  nook, 
under  lee  of  a  big  rock,  sharpening  his  sword  on 
its  side,  before  Trevennack  came  up  there. 
Against  this  rock  he  took  his  stand,  firm  as  a 
rock  himself,  and  seemed  to 
defy  his  enemy's  arms  to  dis- 
lodge him  from  his  position. 
Trevennack's  hands  and 
legs  were  streaming  now 
with  blood.  His  left 
was  sorely  wounded, 
thumb  hung  useless, 
with  the  strange  energy  of 
madness  he  continued  the  desperate  conflict 
against  his  unseen  foe.     Never  should  Michael 


ST.   MICHAEL   DOES   BATTLE.  237 

turn  and  yield  to  the  deadly  assaults  of  the  Evil 
One  !  He  rushed  on  blindly  once  more,  and  the 
Adversary  stooped  to  oppose  him.  Again,  a 
terrible  shock,  it  almost  broke  both  his  knees; 
but  by  sheer  strength  of  nerve  he  withstood  it, 
still  struggling.  Then  they  closed  in  a  final 
grapple.  It  was  a  tooth-and- 
nail  conflict.  They  fought 
one  another  with  every  weap- 
on they  possessed ;  each 
hugged  each  in  their  fury; 
they  tilted,  and  tore,  and 
wrestled,  and  bit,  and  butted. 
Trevennack's  coat  was  in  ribbons,  his  arm  was 
ripped  and  bleeding  ;  but  he  grasped  the  Adver- 
sary still,  he  fought  blindly  to  the  end.  Down, 
Satan,  I  defy  thee ! 

It  was  a  long,  fierce  fight !  At  last,  bit  by  bit, 
the  Enemy  began  to  yield.  Trevennack  had 
dashed  him  against  the  crag  time  after  time  like 
a  log,  till  he  too  was  torn  and  hurt  and  bleeding. 
His  flesh  was  like  pulp.  He  could  endure  the 
unequal  fight  no  longer.  He  staggered  and 
gave  way.     A  great  joy  rose   up   tremulous  in 


238 


MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 


Trevennack's  heart.     Even  without  his  celestial 

sword,  then,  he  had  vanquished  his  enemy.      He 

seized  the  Creature  round  the 
middle,  dragged  it,  a  dead 
weight,  in  his  weary  arms,  to 
the  edge  of  the  precipice,  and 
dropped  it,  feebly  resisting,  on 
to  the  bare  rock  beneath  him. 
Victory !      Victory !      Once 

\    'MPVES^ME  J        more,  a  great  victory! 

He  stood  on   the   brink  of 
the  tor,  and  poised  himself,  as 

if  for  flight,  in  his  accustomed  attitude.     But  he 

was   faint  from   loss    of   blood, 

and  his  limbs  shook  under  him. 

A  light  seemed  to  break  before 

his     blinded     eyes.       Victory! 

Victory!     It  was  the  light  from 

heaven  !     He  stared  forward  to 

welcome  it.     The  brink  of  the 

precipice?     What  was  M^/  to 

such  as  he?     He  would  spread 

his  wings  —  for  once  —  at  last — thus!  thus!  and 

fly  forward  on  full  pinions  to  his  expected  triumph! 


i,^.-... 


ST.   MICHAEL   DOES   BATTLE. 


239 


Jfc^nj/r-.-r.-'-AT— '- 


He   raised   both    arms    above   his    head,  and 
spread   them   out   as   if   for  flight.     His  knees 

.^.^^  trembled  fearfully.  His  fin- 
gers quivered.  Then  he 
launched  himself  on  the  air 
and  fell.  His  eyes  closed 
half-way.  He  lost  con- 
sciousness. He  fainted. 
Before  he  had  reached  the 
bottom  he  was  wholly  in- 
sensible. 

Next  day  it  was  known 

'- ^   before  noon  in  London  that 

a  strange  and  inexplicable  accident  had  befallen 
Mr.  Michael  Trevennack  C.  M.  G.,  the  well- 
known  Admiralty  official,  on  the  moor  near  Ivy- 
bridge.  Mr.  Trevennack,  it 
seemed,  had  started  by  the 
Cornish  express  for  Fal- 
mouth, on  official  business; 
but  the  line  being  blocked 
between  Ivybridge  and  Ply- 
mouth, he  had  changed  his  plans  and  set  out  to 
walk,    as    was   conjectured,  by   a   devious   path 


\y.  .,1' . 


240  MICHAEL'S  CRAG. 

S 

across  the  moor  to  Tavistock.  Deceased  knew 
the  neighborhood  well,  and  was  an  enthusiastic 
admirer  of  its  tors  and  uplands.  But  fog  coming 
on,  the  unfortunate  gentleman,  it  was  believed, 
had  lost  his  way,  and  tried  to  shelter  himself  for 
a  time  behind  a  tall  peak  of  rock  which  he  used 

frequently  to  visit  during  his 
summer  holidays.  There  he 
was  apparently  attacked  by  a 
savage  moorland  ram  —  one  of 
^^^  that  wild  breed  of  mountain 
M||^r  sheep   peculiar    to    Dartmoor, 

and  famous  for  the  strength  and  ferocity  often 
displayed  by  the  fathers  of  the  flock.  Mr.  Tre- 
vennack  was  unarmed,  and  a  terrible  fight 
appeared  to  have  taken  place  between  these  ill- 
matched  antagonists  on  the  summit  of  the  rocks, 
full  details  of  which,  the  Telegram  said  in  its 
curt  business-like  way,  were  too  ghastly  for 
publication.  After  a  long  and  exhausting  strug- 
gle, however,  the  combatants  must  either  have 
slipped  on  the  wet  surface  and  tumbled  over  the 
edge  of  the  rocks  together  in  a  deadly  grapple, 
or    else,  as    seemed  more  probable  from   the 


SI'.    MICHAKL    DOKS    liATTI.K. 


{41 


positions  in  which  the  bodies  were  found,  the 
unhappy  gentleman  had  just  succeeded  in  fling- 
ing his  assailant  over,  and 
then,  faint  from  loss  of  blood, 
had  missed  his  footing  and 
fallen  beside  his  dead  antag- 
onist. At  any  rate,  when 
the  corpse  was  discovered 
life  had  been  extinct  for  sev- 
eral hours ;  and  it  was  the 
opinion  of  the  medical 
authorities  who  conducted  the  post-mortem  that 
death  was  due  not  so  much  to  the  injuries  them- 
selves  as    to    asphyxiation   in 

the  act  of  falling. 

#  *  *  * 

The  jury  found  it  "  Death 
from  accidental  circumstan- 
ces." Cleer  never  knew  more 
than  that  her  father  had  met 
his  end  by  walking   over  the 

edge  of  a  cliff  on   Dartmoor. 

*  *         *         * 

But  when  the  body  came  home  for  burial,  Dr. 
le 


'U2 


MICHAEi;s   CRAC;. 


Yate-Westbury  looked  in  by  Mrs.  Trevennack's 

special  request,  and  performed 
an  informal  and  private  exami- 
nation of  the  brain  and  nervous 
system.  At  the  close  of  the 
autopsy  he  came  down  to  the 
drawing-room  wdiere  the  silver- 
haired  lady  sat  pale  and  tearful, 
but  courageous.  "  It  is  just  as 
I  thought,"  he  said;  "a  clot  of 
blood,  due  to  external  injury,  has  pressed  for 
years  above  the  left  frontal  region, 
causing  hallucinations  and  irregulari- 
ties of  a  functional  character  only. 
You  needn't  have  the  slightest  fear  of 
its  proving  hereditary.  It's  as  purely 
accidental  as  a  sprain  or  a  wound. 
Your  daughter,  Mrs.  Le  Neve,  couldn't 
possibly  suffer  for  it." 

And  neither  Cleer  nor  Le  Neve  nor 
anyone  else  ever  shared  that  secret  of 
Trevennack's  delusions  with  his  wife   and  the 
doctor. 


